Start Over
by loulouflowerpower
Summary: Sherlock/OC, eventually. John and Sherlock now know Amelia's secret, the secret of who her twin brother really is, but what effect will that have on their friendship? What will Amelia's reaction be to Irene Adler? Will she actually start feeling something she never thought she would for one of her friends?
1. Chapter 1 Scandal in Belgravia, Part 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock BBC, I only own my OC, Amelia Wilson.**_

….

_**A Scandal In Belgravia, Part 1.**_

Sherlock's hands were steady, not wavering as he aimed the pistol down at the bomb vest in-between him and James Moriarty, both men's eyes fixed calmly on each other's as James gave a half smile, seeming to be almost amused by the situation as Amelia swallowed hard, her heart racing in her chest, when…

Suddenly, 'Stayin' Alive' by The Bee Gees rang out.

Sherlock and John frowned, looking around, confused, as Amelia struggled to fight back the mad urge to laugh. It was just…such a comedic thing to happen, right in the middle of a stand-off involving a bomb.

James sighed exasperatedly, closing his eyes briefly, "D'you mind if I get that?" he asked them.

"No, no, please," Sherlock shrugged, gesturing with his gun, almost sounding casual about the whole thing, "You've got the rest of your life".

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out his phone, raising it to his ear, "Hello?" he answered, still looking slightly annoyed as he paused, listening, "Yes, of _course_ it is. What do you want?" he looked back at them, mouthing 'sorry' to Sherlock, who sarcastically mouthed back 'Oh, it's fine'. He turned away from them, rolling his eyes before spinning back, suddenly furious, "SAY THAT AGAIN!" he shouted into the phone as Sherlock and John frowned, exchanging a look with Amelia, "Say that again," he commanded once more, his tone deadly, "And know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will _skin_ you," he hissed out the word 'skin,' listening for a moment, "Wait," and lowered the phone, slowly approaching the bomb vest, looking thoughtfully down as Sherlock adjusted his grip on the gun, eyeing him, "Sorry," he finally said, looking back up, "Wrong day to die".

"Oh," Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him, his tone calm, but he kept the gun firmly aimed at the vest, "Did you get a better offer?" he nodded towards his phone.

James glanced down at the phone in his hands and slowly turned away, "You'll be hearing from me, Sherlock," he told him, strolling back towards the door that he had originally entered through, lifting the phone back to his ear, "So if you have what you say you have, I will make you rich," he said into the phone, "If you don't, I'll make you into shoes," he lifted up his free hand, snapping his fingers, and the lasers disappeared as he left the room.

Sherlock looked around, but was disappointed to find that there wasn't any sign of the snipers as Amelia closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and John sighed in relief, "What happened there?" he asked, looking up at them.

Amelia opened her eyes, looking at them. It was still strange to see her with brown eyes, rather than blue, "That was someone changing my dear brother's mind," she remarked quietly, looking uneasy, "And that, I'm sure you can imagine, is never a good thing".

Sherlock looked back towards the direction that James had disappeared, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully, "The question it, who?"

….

A few weeks had passed since the incident at the pool, and things at Baker Street had…slowly, improved. John had taken Amelia up on her offer to go on a trip away from London, and even they're relationship had begun to slowly rebuild trust wise.

John was sitting at the living room table, typing his latest blog entry up as Amelia sat on the sofa, ideally flickering through the magazine, while Sherlock was going through a newspaper, standing across from John, sipping from a mug.

"What are you typing?" he asked John, not really seeming overly interested.

"Blog," John replied.

"About?"

"Us".

"You mean me," Sherlock corrected, titling his head, "And maybe Amelia".

Amelia sighed, holding up her hand, "Leave me out of this, Sherlock," she shot him a look.

"Why?" John questioned, still typing.

He coughed, clearing his throat, "Well, you're typing a lot," he reasoned, making the other man look at him, just as the doorbell sounded, "Right then," he sat the cup down on the table, heading towards the door, "So, what have we got?"

"Here we go again," Amelia remarked softly, straightening.

…

Weeks went by, and there seemed to be a never ending stream of people coming and going from Baker Street, all consulting with Sherlock. It had become such a regular occurrence, that they had even started sitting up one of the kitchen chairs, facing the fireplace, for there possible clients to sit in.

"My wife seems to be spending a very long time at the officer," the latest client, a man in his mid-fifties, began to tell them.

"Boring," Sherlock announced.

Well, that was little slow. The last one hadn't even made it over the doorway before being sent away.

…

"I think my husband might be having an affair".

"Yes".

Amelia sighed tiredly, rubbing her forehead, "Way to break it to her gently, Sherlock".

….

"She's not my real aunt," a young man explained to them, clutching a funeral urn, looking to John and Amelia, Sherlock paced behind him, "She's been replaced, I _know_ she has. I _know _human ash".

"Leave," Sherlock practically ordered, pointing at the door.

….

A business man in a sharp suit sat in the chair, while two other well-dressed men stood behind him, their hands clasped together in front of them, "We are prepared to offer any sum of money you care to mention for the recovery of these files," he informed them.

"Boring".

….

"We have this website," a young man, hardly seeming to be out of his teens tried explaining to them, while two of his other friends stood behind him, shifting nervously, "It explains the true meaning of comic books, 'cause people miss a lot of the themes…" Sherlock, losing interest, turned and began walking away, "…but then all the comic books started coming true," he quickly finished.

"Oh," Sherlock walked back, finally looking curious after weeks and weeks of interviews with different people, "Interesting".

….

Later, John sat in his chair in the living room, writing up there latest case as Amelia sat across from him, fiddling with her phone, just as Sherlock popped up over his shoulder.

"'Geek Interpreter,'" he read, frowning at the screen, "What's that?"

"It's the title," John replied easily.

"What does it need a title for?"

"Leave him alone, Holmes," Amelia told him lightly, not looking up as John smiled tightly at him as he slowly straightened, walking off.

….

"Do people actually read your blog?" Sherlock asked John as they and Amelia examined the body of a young blonde woman lying on one of the metal tables at St Barts Hospital, covered in little strange specks all over her body. Lestrade stood off to the side, watching them.

"Oh, not this again," Amelia muttered, shaking her head as she glanced at them.

"Where do you think our clients come from?" John asked him, a touch of annoyance lacing his voice.

Sherlock shrugged, continuing his examination with the help of his magnifying glass, "I have a website".

"In which you enumerate two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash," he rolled his eyes slightly as Sherlock looked up at him, "Nobody's reading your website".

Amelia gave Sherlock a sharp look, noticing him glaring at John, "Let it go, Sherlock," she told him firmly as they straightened from the table, "Just let it go".

"Right then," John continued, not seeming to notice Sherlock's glare, "Dyed blonde hair, no obvious cause of death except for these speckles," he frowned, bending closer to the body, "Whatever they are," and used his finger to point the specks out, looking up, only to see Sherlock strolling out of the room. He blinked, glancing at Amelia.

She sighed, shaking her head, seeming to be caught between amusement and annoyance, "I don't think he liked your little remark about his blog…"

…

Back at the flat, John sat up at the living room table, typing as Amelia sat across from him, sipping a cup of tea, just as Sherlock walked in, eating a piece of toast and carrying the newspaper. He paused and sidled closer, looking at the screen.

"Oh, for God's sakes!" he exclaimed through a mouthful of toast.

"What?" John hardly glanced at him, having grown used to this sort of thing happening almost every time he wrote something new for his blog.

"'The Speckled Blonde?'" Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked off, shaking his head.

Amelia groaned, "You know, I think he does that on purpose," she commented to John, "He just likes something to complain about, so he picks on your titles," she shook her head before pausing, casting him a look, "John, just…ah, promise me if I happen to get murdered, you won't title mine something to do with my appearance?"

John blinked at her, "Who said anything about murdering you?"

"Oh, just my brother, for one person…"

…

It was night time, Amelia and John were both sitting across from each other in the chairs in front of the fireplace, looking at two little girls sitting together on the dinning chair that they used for clients, while Sherlock stood beside Amelia's chair.

"They wouldn't let us see Granddad when he was dead," one of the little girls told them, "Is that 'cause he'd gone to heaven?"

"People don't really go to heaven when they died," Sherlock replied, not softening his voice in the slightest, "They're taken to a special room and burned".

The little girls exchanged distressed looks.

"Sherlock…" John scolded.

"That's it," Amelia shook her head, looking appalled, "You are never allowed to talk to kids again, not without either John or myself to be there…or though, I can't say that really helped this time".

….

"There was a plane crash in Dusseldorf yesterday," Lestrade explained to them over his shoulder as he led them across opened ground, towards an abounded car, "Everyone dead".

"Suspected terrorist bomb," Sherlock remarked, rolling his eyes, "We do watch the news".

"You said, 'boring,' and turned over," John shook his head, casting him a look.

"He also said the same thing while flickering through the newspaper," Amelia added, a hint of amusement in her voice.

They came to a stop around the back of the abounded car to find a man's body inside the boot of the car, "Well, according to the flight details, this man was checked in on board," Lestrade told them, looking at a bag of evidence as Sherlock began looking around the boot of the car, "Inside his coat he's got a stub from his boarding pass, napkins from the flight, even one of those special biscuits," Amelia took the little bags from, looking through them closely.

"He even has his passport stamped at Berlin airport," Amelia commented thoughtfully, handing the bag's back over to Lestrade, "How…interesting".

"So this man should have died in a plane crash in Germany yesterday, but instead he's in a car boot in Southwark," he finished, frowning at the body.

"Lucky escape," John shrugged slightly, but still looked a little puzzled.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock, who was examining the dead man closely with his magnifier, "Any ideas?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"Eight, so far," Sherlock answered.

Amelia looked at him curiously, "Seriously?" she sighed, looking disappointed, "I only have four, and even those ones don't seem right".

He continued his examination, pausing as he frowned down at the man, "Okay, four ideas," he straightened and looked at the evidence bags, frowning again as he looked at them, and then looked up at the sky, just as a passenger jet passed over head, "Maybe two ideas".

…

Back at Baker Street, John was typing as Sherlock, wearing safety goggles, thick protective gloves, and carrying a blowtorch in one hand and a glass container with some sort of green liquid inside it, frowning as he looked over John's shoulder.

"No, no, no," he shook his head at him, looking annoyed, "Don't mention the unsolved ones!"

"I've said it a thousand times, Sherlock, just let John do what he wants with his blog," Amelia told him, casting him a stern look from where she was sitting on the sofa, "He writes about me all the time and you don't see me complaining," she shrugged.

John sighed, "People want to know that you're human".

"Why?" he asked quickly.

"'Cos they're interested," he replied.

"No they're not," Sherlock rolled his eyes before frowning at him, "_Why_ are they?"

Jon smiled at the laptop, "Look at that," he nodded to something on his screen and Amelia, feeling curious, walked over to take a look to see the front page of his blog, "One thousand, eight hundred and nighty-five," he remarked, looking pleased.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock looked back at him.

"I re-set that counter last night," he explained, "This blog has had nearly two thousand hits in the last eight hours," he looked up at him, "This is your living, Sherlock, not two hundred and forty types of tobacco ash".

"Wow, nice," Amelia smiled brightly at John.

Sherlock, on the other hand, seemed less pleased, "Two hundred and forty-three," he grumpily corrected him, firing the blowtorch and heading back towards the kitchen.

…

"So, what's this one?" Sherlock asked John as they walked across the stage of a theatre, police and forensic officers still wondering around, "'Belly Button Murders?'"

"'The Navel Treatment?'" John suggested jokingly.

"Eurgh," he groaned in distaste as Amelia laughed.

They headed backstage when they almost ran into Lestrade, "There's a lot of press outside, guys," he informed them as they made their way down the narrow hallway, towards the back door.

"Well, they won't be interested in us," Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, that was before you were an internet phenomenon," he glanced at them, seeming to find the situation amusing, "A couple of them specifically wanted photographs of you three".

"You have got to be kidding me," Amelia sighed heavily, shaking her head as if she didn't want to believe it.

"For God's sake!" Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, looking very annoyed as he opened them, throwing John a glare, who just simply gave him a small smile back in return. They passed a dressing room and he quickly ducked inside, "John," he called, chucking a cap at him, "Cover your face and walk fast," he told him, quickly unlooping his scarf from around his neck, and passing it to Amelia, "Put that on and keep your head down".

Amelia looped the blue scarf around her neck, feeling grateful that she had worn a high collared coat that night, "You do realise, that now the press are going to think you and I are having an affair," she glanced at him, but thankfully, he ignored her comment.

"Still, it's good for the public image, a big case like this," Lestrade was saying ahead of them as they continued walking down the hallway.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'm a private detective," he replied, putting his own hat on, which turned out to be a deerstalker, pulling it low over his face, and tugging his coats collar higher, "The last thing I need is a public image".

They stepped outside to be greeted with the flashes of photographs, journalists shouting and clamouring to try and get closer to them as the police held them back. Madness, complete madness, and all they could do was try to keep their heads down and away from the cameras.

….

"So, this is your idea of breakfast attire, is it?" Amelia raised her eyebrows at Sherlock, who was only wearing a white sheet around him like a toga.

He cast her a look, "Why, did you expect me to come wearing Westwood and Louboutin's?" he sarcastically shot back at her.

"Children," John cut in, holding up his hand, looking tired as he sat his tea cup back down on the table, looking in between them both since he had taken the middle seat, while they had both chosen to sit at the ends of the table, "Can we please just have breakfast in peace, for once? No augments…"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and threw a look around Amelia's living/dining room area, "I don't see why we had to have breakfast here, anyway," he remarked, sounding annoyed.

Amelia sighed, having already gone over it with him four times the night before, "We are having breakfast here so that Mrs Hudson, who really shouldn't have to, can help clean up some of your mess," she tried to calmly explain to him, but she was sure that some of her own annoyance made it into her voice, "And I offered to host breakfast in my apartment. Now, please, just eat you toast, Sherlock".

"You're in a mood," he commented, eyeing her. He could usually tell what mood she was in, just from what she wore, which was a Westwood red, grey, and yellow tartan skirt suit with matching blazer, over the top of a red blouse, black Louboutin heels, back-seam sheer stockings, and small gold drop earrings in the sharp of little flowers. Red lipstick, nails, little eyeliner, and a classic style bun.

Ah, so she was trying to overcompensate for the lack of sleep, since she had gone to the effort of picking out clothing that practically screamed out money. That's what she usually did, used her outward appearance in an attempt to make herself feel, that and the press had taken a shine to her, so no doubt she wanted to make sure that she wasn't caught off guard again.

"Sherlock, has the last months living next to me taught you nothing about woman?" Amelia raised an eyebrows at him, shaking her head, "You never say that a woman is in a 'mood,' not unless you want to end up being ranted at. Honestly, even John knows that".

John coughed as they both focused their attention him, "Ah…yeah, she's right," he nodded, picking up a piece of toast and biting into it.

Suddenly, Mrs Hudson shouted, "Boys, Amelia!" they frowned, exchanging looks, "You've got another one!"

….

Once they had hurried back across the hall and into the kitchen, they found Mrs Hudson standing over a rather large man, who appeared to be unconsciousness. John quickly set to work checking him over and found that he was fine, estimating that he had only feinted, and so, once the man had come to, they got him to sit down on the dining table chair in front of the fireplace, while John sat on the sofa, Sherlock stood, still wearing only his sheet, by the fireplace, and Amelia took John's usual chair.

"Tell us from the start," Sherlock told the man, who turned out to be called Phil, firmly, "_Don't_ be boring".

….

Sherlock walked into the kitchen, yawning, and still only wearing his sheet, despite how many hints Amelia had dropped that perhaps he put some clothing on.

"You realise this is a tiny bit humiliating?" John called from the laptop that had been set up in the living room, Amelia sighed and nodded in agreement from where she sat in front of the computer.

"It's okay, I'm fine," he yawned again, picking up a cup of what Amelia assumed to be tea, and walked into the living room and over to the computer, "Now, show me to the stream," he told him as he took a seat beside the brunette.

"I didn't really mean for you," John replied, rolling his eyes at him.

"Look, this is a six," Sherlock said to him, adjusting the screen slightly, just as the front doorbell rang. Amelia glanced back over her shoulder towards it, but he completely ignored it, "There's no point in my leaving the flat for anything less than a seven," he continued, "We agreed. Now, go back. Show us the grass".

John walked closer to the stream, obviously holding the laptop screen out in front of him as he crouched down, giving them a view of the grass, "When did we agree that?" he asked.

"We agreed yesterday. Stop!" they both moved closer to the screen, looking at the mud on the ground, close to the streams bank, "Closer".

John swung the laptop around to face him and another man, presumably the detective in charge, "I wasn't even at home yesterday," he shook his head, "I was in Dublin and Amelia was off with Molly all day".

"Well, it's hardly _my_ fault you weren't listening," the doorbell rang again, this time for long, and he looked back towards it, calling angrily, "Shut up!"

Amelia winced and rubbed her ear, "Yeah, thanks, I didn't need that one for hearing or anything," she sarcastically commented.

"D'you just carry on talking when Amelia and I are away?" John questioned, frowning back at them.

"I don't know," Sherlock shrugged, looking back to him, "How often are you away?"

"So says consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes," Amelia stopped rubbing her ear and shook her head, looking amused, "He can't tell you when he's flatmate and neighbour has gone out, but he can give you a profile of your life from one look".

"Concentrate, Amelia," he cast her a look before refocusing back on the computer, "Now, show us the car that backfired".

They could hear John sigh loudly as he turned the laptop around, holding it up higher for them to see a car sitting on the road, "It's there".

"That's the one that made the noise, yes?"

He swung the computer back around to look at them, "Yeah," he nodded, seeming to be walking back up towards the road and away from the stream, "And if you're thinking gunshot, there wasn't one. He wasn't shot, he was killed by a single blow to the back of the head from a blunt instrument which then magically disappeared along with the killer," Sherlock and Amelia both looked thoughtful, "That's gotta be an eight, at _least_".

Sherlock sunk back into his chair, running a finger back and forth over his top lip, deep in thought. Amelia blinked and pulled her eyes away, suddenly aware that she had been watching the motion for a second or two longer then she really ought to have.

"You've got two minutes, then I want to know more about the driver," the other man, who seemed to be following John around, told them firmly.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively, "Oh, forget him," he said to the other man, "He's an idiot. Why else would he think himself a suspect?"

Amelia cleared her throat, casting Sherlock a pointed look, which he ignored as the other man glared at Sherlock, "_I_ think he's a suspect!"

Sherlock lent closer to the laptop, looking annoyed, "_Pass me over_".

"All right, but there's a 'mute' button and I _will_ use it," John warned him.

"Up a bit! I'm not talking from down here!"

John sighed and tried passing the whole computer to the other man beside him, "Okay, just take it, take it".

John disappeared off to the side of the screen, out of sight, as the other man took the laptop fully, "Having driven to an isolated location and successfully committed a crime without a single witness, why would he then call the police and consult not just with one detectives, but with two?" Sherlock immediately asked him, talking very fast, and raised his eyebrows, "Fair play?"

"He's trying to be clever," the other man responded, "It's over-confidence".

Amelia shook her head, "That's what you're going with?" she raised an eyebrow at him, not looking impressed, "Seriously, you think that he's being over-confident?"

"Did you_ see_ him?" Sherlock sighed, exasperated, "Morbidly obese, the undisguised halitosis of a single man living on his own, the right sleeve of an internet porn addict, and the breathing pattern of an untreated heart condition. Low self-esteem, tiny IQ, and a limited life expectancy, and you think he's an audacious criminal mastermind?" he laughed and turned around to were Phil was sitting in John's chair, having been there the entire time, "Don't worry, this is stupid".

"What did you say?" Phil gasped, sounding very anxious, "_Heart_ what?"

Amelia glanced back at him, trying to give him a comforting smile, "Don't worry, just make sure you see your doctor once you leave," she said to him calmly, "I'm sure it will be fine".

Sherlock turned back to the screen, "Go to the stream," he ordered the other man.

"What's in the stream?" he frowned.

"Go and see".

"Sherlock, Amelia!" Mrs Hudson suddenly walked into the room, two men wearing suits following, "You weren't answering your doorbell".

One of the men, seeming to be the one in charge, glanced back at the second man just behind him, "His room's through the back," he pointed off in the direction, "Get him some clothes".

Sherlock and Amelia frowned at them, "Who the hell are you?" he questioned.

"Sorry, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson," the man began walking closer to them, "You're coming with us," and placed a hand on the laptops lid, slowly closing it on John's calls of alarm, wanting to know if he and Amelia were okay, just as the second man returned, placing the folded clothes and shoes on the table.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at them and shrugged, making no move to stand or pick the clothing up.

"Please, Mr Holmes," he tried again, his hands clasped together in front of him, "Where you're going, you'll want to be dressed".

Sherlock glanced back at him, eyeing him closely, clearly deducing him before smirking smugly up at the man's face, "Oh, I know exactly where I'm going," he remarked.

Amelia smiled, quickly running her eyes over the man herself, spotting the traces of dog hair on his trouser legs. Three, she guessed, the work lines on his forehead, the lack of dried mud or marks on his shoes, so indoor work, the lack of a weapon, and lastly, the price of his suit. She glanced at Sherlock.

"Good thing I put some effort into my outfit today," she remarked to him, adding teasingly, "Shall we, Mr Holmes?"

…

Sherlock, who had refused to actually put on his clothing, was sitting beside Amelia in quite a large, ornate style room on a sofa, still bundled up in his sheet. A small, rounded coffee table was in front of them, were Sherlock's clothing and shoes had been placed, and on the other side of the small table, a second sofa was facing them.

They both looked over to the double doorway as John entered, giving Sherlock a look as if to ask what was going on, but Sherlock simply shrugged and rolled his eyes. He nodded, glancing around the room as he slowly approached them, and sank down beside Amelia, placing her in the middle. For a moment, he simply stared ahead of him before he glanced over at Sherlock, eyeing the sheet, and turned away again, "Are you wearing any pants?" he asked him.

"No".

"Okay".

Slowly, the three of them glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

"At Buckingham Palace, fine," John gestured around, still smiling as he tried clearing his throat, trying to control himself from bursting into another fit of laughter, "Oh, I'm seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray," Amelia and Sherlock laughed again as he shook his head, "What are we doing he, Sherlock, Amelia?" he glanced around the room, "Seriously, what?"

"I don't know," Sherlock replied, still smiling.

"Here to see the Queen?" he suggested.

A moment later, Mycroft strolled inside from the other end of the room, looking his usual self.

"Oh, apparently yes," Sherlock remarked, causing all three of them to burst out laughing again.

"Perfect timing, too," Amelia giggled, quickly covering her mouth, trying to regain control over herself.

Mycroft looked at them, obviously exasperated already by their behaviour, "Just _once_, can you behave like grown-ups?" he sighed, moving further into the room.

"We solve crimes," John shrugged, regaining control after their little fit, "I blog about it, she likes to play dress-ups, and he forgets his pants, so I wouldn't hold out too much hope".

All the amusement on Sherlock's face faded away as he looked up at his brother, looking annoyed, "I was in the middle of a case, Mycroft".

"What, the hiker and the backfire?" he turned to him, slipping his hands inside his trouser pockets, "I glanced at the police report. Bit obvious, surely?"

"Transparent".

John looked at Sherlock, startled as Amelia frowned, looking thoughtful, wondering just what it was that she was missing.

"Time to move on, then," Mycroft took his hands out of his pocket, bending down, and picking up the clothing and shoes from the table, holding them out towards his brother, who just looked down at the clothing, seeming bored, "We are in Buckingham Palace," he sighed, "The very heart of the British nation," his tone turned stern, "Sherlock Holmes, put your trousers on".

Amelia coughed, struggling not to laugh again as Sherlock shrugged, "What for?"

"Your client".

Sherlock stood, "And my client is?"

"Illustrious…" they all turned as man in a dark suit walked inside the room, "…in the extreme," John quickly stood respectfully and, slightly slower, Amelia followed suit, "And remaining, I have to inform you, entirely anonymous," he smiled across at Mycroft, seeming happy to see him, "Mycroft!"

"Harry," Mycroft smiled at him, walking over to him, shaking his hand, "May I just apologise for the state of my little brother?" they turned back to them.

"Full-time occupation, I imagine," Harry remarked as Sherlock scowled at him, and looked away, "And you must be Doctor John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," he smiled, holding out his hand to John.

"Hello, yes," John nodded, shaking his hand.

"My employer is a tremendous fan of your blog".

He blinked, looking startled, "Your employer?"

Harry nodded, smiling, "Particularly enjoyed the one about the aluminium crutch".

"Thank you," John cleared his throat and gave Sherlock a smug look.

The man held his hand, turning to Amelia, "Miss Wilson," he greeted as she shook his hand, giving him a friendly smile, "I have heard quite a bit about you. Your Mother did wonderful work".

Amelia's eyes widened slightly, surprised, "Oh, well, she loved trying to help people," she said after a moment, "Charity work was just something that she loved doing," she coughed, glancing away as they released each other's hands, "Ah…I guess it must have skipped my brother".

Either too polite to say anything else in regards to her remark about her brother, no doubt sensing that it wasn't the best topic to get involved in, he walked over to Sherlock, "And Mr Holmes the younger," he smiled at him, "You look taller in your photographs".

"I take the precaution of a good coat and a shot friend," Sherlock responded, glancing at John pointedly, forcing both him and Amelia to step back as he strolled up to his brother, "Mycroft, I don't do anonymous clients. I'm used to mystery at _one_ end of my cases. Both ends is too much work," he looked around at Harry, "Good morning".

He turned and began to walk away, but Mycroft stepped forward and onto part of the sheet trailing behind him, nearly pulling the entire thing off Sherlock, who only just managed to grab enough of it to cover himself from his waist down. He tried tugging on it, looking furious as Amelia instantly felt her cheeks heat up and quickly looked away.

"This is a matter of _national importance_," Mycroft snapped at him, looking almost as angry as his little brother, "Grow up!"

"Get off my sheet!" Sherlock hissed.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll just walk away".

"I'll let you".

"Can we please not do this?" Amelia sighed heavily, still keeping her eyes adverted from Sherlock, "This really isn't the place to be doing this".

"Who," Sherlock grounded out furiously, "Is. My. _Client_?"

Mycroft took a deep breath, "Take a look at where you're standing and make a deduction. You are to be engaged by the highest in the land. Now for God's sake…" he broke off, his temper rising as he glanced at Harry, forcing himself to not shout, "…put your clothes on!"

Sherlock inhaled deeply, closing his eyes tightly, and released it.

….

Sherlock, now thankfully dressed, was sitting on the sofa again beside Amelia, who was beside John as Mycroft and Harry sat on the other sofa across from them. Mycroft smiled over at the other man beside him, pouring tea from a teapot, "I'll be mother," he commented.

"And there is a whole childhood in a nutshell," Sherlock pointedly looked at Mycroft.

His brother sat the teapot back down on the tray, rolling his eyes at Sherlock's remark.

"My employer has a problem," Harry began, his attention focused on them across the table.

"A matter has come to light of an extremely delicate and potentially criminal nature," Mycroft continued after him, "And in this hour of need, dear brother, your name has arisen".

"Why?" Sherlock asked quickly, eyeing them, "You have a police force of sorts, even a marginally Secret Service. Why come to me?"

"People do come to you for help, don't they, Mr Holmes?" Harry raised his eyebrows questionably at him.

"Not, to date, anyone with a navy".

"This is a matter of the highest security, and therefore trust," Mycroft explained to them.

John frowned at them, "You don't trust your own Secret Service?"

"Naturally not," he replied, shaking his head, "They all spy on people for money".

John smiled slightly as Harry glanced at Mycroft, "I do think we have a timetable," he reminded the other man.

"Yes, of course," Mycroft nodded, "Um…" he reached down beside his feet and grabbed a briefcase, popping it open, and pulling out a glossy photograph, handing it over to Sherlock, "What do you know about this woman?" he asked him.

Sherlock looked closely at the picture of a dark haired woman done up in a bun, "Nothing whatsoever," he replied.

"Then you should be paying more attention," Mycroft told him, "She's been at the centre of two political scandals in the last year, and recently ended the marriage of a prominent novelist by having an affair with both participant…separately".

Amelia raised her eyebrows, "Goodness, that sounds rather exhausting," she remarked, shaking her head, "And pointless…or perhaps that's just me".

"You know I don't concern myself with trivia," Sherlock said to his brother as John took a sip of tea from his cup, titling his head as he looked at the picture in Sherlock's hands, "Who is she?"

"Irene Adler, professionally known as 'The Woman'".

"Professionally?" John asked and Amelia glanced over at Mycroft.

"There are many names for what she does," he informed them, "She prefers 'dominatrix'".

Sherlock frowned, seeming almost thoughtful, "Dominatrix?"

"Don't be alarmed," Mycroft glanced at him, "It's to do with sex".

"Sex doesn't alarm me," Sherlock's head snapped up to him.

Mycroft smiled snidely at him, "How would you know?" he raised his eyebrows at his brother, who stared at him.

Amelia coughed, shifting in her seat, "Could we perhaps not bring personal details of a person's life into this, Mycroft?" she cast him a pointed look, a small smile tugging on the corner of her mouth, "Since I'm sure that Sherlock knows quite a number of little details about you that you wouldn't like to come out…hmm?"

Mycroft coughed and seemed to shift uneasily, his eyes flickering back over at Sherlock, who smirked back at him, "She provides…shall we say…recreational scolding for those who enjoy that sort of thing and are prepared to pay for it," he quickly got back on topic, popping his briefcase open again and handing several more glossy pictures to Sherlock, "These are all from her website".

Sherlock took them and began leafing through the pictures, most containing Irene Adler in numerous outfits, most bearing a great amounts of skin, and featured in different poses, "And I assume this Adler woman has some compromising photographs," he guessed as a couple of the pictures caught John's eye.

"You're very quick, Mr Holmes," Harry commented, seeming impressed.

"Hardly a difficult deduction," he replied, rolling his eyes, "Photographs of whom?"

Harry glanced at Mycroft, "A person of significance to my employer," he finally answered, "We'd prefer not to say any more at this time".

Amelia raised her eyebrows again as Sherlock tossed the pictures down on the coffee table, glaring across at them, "You don't 'prefer' to tell us a lot, do you?" she frowned at them.

"You can't tell us anything?" John asked them.

"I can tell you that it's a young person," Mycroft sighed as John lifted his cup to his mouth, "A young _female_ person," he finished, causing John's eyes to widen and Sherlock to smirk, and a smile slowly work its way across Amelia's face.

"How many photographs?" Sherlock questioned.

"A considerable number, apparently".

"Do Miss Adler and this young female person appear in these photographs together?"

"Yes, they do".

"And I assume in a number of compromising scenarios?"

"And imaginative range, we are assured".

Amelia glanced at John, smiling slightly as she saw him staring wide eyed still at Mycroft, his tea cup half risen to his mouth, "John, you might want to sit your cup back down," she quietly said to him.

"Can you help us, Mr Holmes?" Harry asked him as John quickly did as she advised, sitting the teacup and saucer back down on the table.

"How?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Will you take the case?" he clarified.

"What case?" he frowned, "Pay her, now and in full," he shifted in his seat, glancing down at the pictures, "As Miss Adler remarks in her masthead, 'know when you are beaten".

Mycroft bit his bottom lip as his little brother reached for his coat that he had hanging over the back of the sofa, "She doesn't want anything," he told them as Sherlock looked back at him, "She got in touch, she informed us that the photographs existed, she indicated that she had no intention to use them to extort money or favour".

Finally, Sherlock seemed to become interested, "Oh, a power play," he nodded, "A power play with the most powerful family in Britain," he titled his head, "Now that _is_ a dominatrix. Ooh, this is getting rather run, isn't it?" he smirked.

"Sherlock…" John began.

"Hmm," he hummed, ignoring John as he grabbed his coat, "Where is she?"

"Uh, in London currently," Mycroft answered, seeming surprised by his sudden interest, "She's staying…" and Amelia noticed with a small frown that his eyes seemed to drift over to her.

"Text me the details," Sherlock cut him off, standing with his coat, and beginning to walk away as they all quickly stood, "I'll be in touch by the end of the day".

"Do you really think you'll have news by then?" Harry asked him, sounding both surprised and hopeful.

Sherlock paused and turned back to him, "No, I think I'll have the photographs".

Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, "One can only hope you're as good as you seem to think you are," Harry commented, earning a sharp look from Sherlock.

Sherlock looked him up and down, quickly deducing him before he glanced over at his brother, "I'll need some equipment, of course…" he told him.

"Anything you require," Mycroft nodded, "I'll have it sent to…"

"Can I have a box of matches?" he cut in, looking at Harry,

The other man blinked, looking back at him, "I'm sorry?"

"Or your cigarette lighter," Sherlock shrugged, holding out his hand, "Either will do".

"I don't smoke".

"No, I know _you_ don't, but your employer does".

John and Amelia exchanged a look, watching the interaction as Harry reached inside his pocket and handed a lighter to him, "We have kept a lot of people successfully in the dark about this little fact, Mr Holmes," he gave Sherlock a look.

"I'm not the Commonwealth," Sherlock replied, pocketing the lighter, and turning away.

"And that's as modest as he gets," John remarked to Harry, nodding to him and Mycroft, "Pleasure to meet you," and followed after Sherlock.

"Nice to see you again, Mycroft," Amelia flashed both men a bright smile, giving Harry a little wave as she walked after John and Sherlock, "And lovely to meet you".

"Laters!" Sherlock called, mimicking Harry's accent, and not pronouncing the T.

John cast Mycroft and Harry an apologetic look as they rounded the corner, disappearing down the hall.

…

"Okay, the smoking," John began, watching the city pass them by outside the taxi's window as they sat in the back of the cab, "How did you know?"

Sherlock smiled, shaking his head as Amelia slowly started smiling herself, catching on, "The evidence was right under your nose, John," he remarked, "As ever, you see but do not observe".

"Observe what?" he frowned.

"The ashtray," he replied simply, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a glassy ashtray. John and Amelia cracked up laughing, both looking highly amused as he tossed the ashtray in the air before catching it, slipping it into his coat again, and joined them in laughing.

_**I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	2. Chapter 2 A Scandal in Belgravia, Part 2

_**A Scandal in Belgravia, Part 2**_

Once they arrived back at Baker Street, Sherlock immediately dashed into his bedroom, not even closing the door behind him as Amelia and John where left exchanging slightly confused looks as they entered the kitchen.

A few minutes past and still Sherlock hadn't explained or emerged from his room as John, having grown bored of waiting, sat at the kitchen table, ideally flicking through the day's paper, Amelia sat across from him, her chin resting on the palm of her hand, trying to decide whether she ought to give up waiting and grab a magazine to read herself, when the sound of something that sounded like fabric (clothing, perhaps?), hitting the floor drifted down the hall from Sherlock's bedroom to them.

John paused in his reading and glanced across at Amelia, raising a questioning eyebrow as the sound continued. The brunette frowned and rose from her chair, moving around to the other side of the table so that she could look down the hall, "Ah, Sherlock?" she called down the hall, "What are you doing?"

"Going into battle, Amelia," Sherlock replied from out of view, casting another article of clothing into the obviously 'no' pile that was steadily growing, "I need the right armour," he stepped into the door way, wearing a large, bright yellow hi-vis jacket and looked down at himself quickly, "No," and out of view once more, pulling the jacket off.

"Right," John nodded, shaking his head in mild exasperation as he turned back to his paper.

….

Once Sherlock had finally finished playing dress-ups, emerging from his room in what appeared to be almost the very same outfit he had worn earlier, they headed down stairs and hailed a cab.

"So, what's the plan?" John asked after a moment of silence as they sat in the back of the taxi, pulling Amelia's attention away from looking outside the window.

"We know the address," Sherlock answered, hardly looking away from his window.

"Out of curiosity, what is the address?" Amelia questioned, looking around John, who was sitting in the middle of them, "Because you never really said".

He sighed, sounding bored, "Forty four Eaton Square…"

"What?" she exclaimed suddenly, causing John to jump as he and Sherlock, who also appeared surprised by her outburst, looked at her, "You have got to be bloody kidding me!" she seethed angrily, closing her eyes tightly, "Of all the houses in London, she had to pick that one to turn into her own little…" she trailed off, to angry to even finish.

"What are you babbling about?" Sherlock frowned at her.

For a moment, Amelia didn't say anything as she forced herself to take a few deep, calming breaths before she reopened her eyes, "Number forty four Eaton Square is my house," she finally told them, trying very hard to try and compose herself, "It has belonged to the…" she hesitated, swallowing, "…Moriaty family for the past few generations. My parents used it as their primary residence here in London during most of the year while they worked and my _dear_ brother and I went to school, and I inherited it once they died. I am…well, I _was_ living in it before I started working with you," she nodded to Sherlock, sighing, "I've been renting it out, I figure that would be better than letting it remain empty," she laughed, a touch of anger entering her voice once more, "How wrong can I get?"

"She's living in your house?" John blinked at her, looking shocked, "Talk about a coincidence," he shook his head.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he turned back to his window, "There's no such thing as a coincidence," he remarked quietly, seeming to be talking more to himself then to John and Amelia, "The Universe is rarely so lazy".

"Do you think that James could have had a hand in this?" Amelia asked wearily, knowing just how likely that could be. He would find it highly amusing to do something like that, no doubt knowing just how angry it would end up making her, since he knew how much that house had meant to her when she was growing up. She loved there house in Ireland, of course, but it was just something about their family house in London that had held a special place in her heart, which was probably why she hadn't been upset when she had given him the deed to the Ireland house.

"Highly possible".

A moment past before John cleared his throat, casting a somewhat cautious glance at Amelia, not wanting to cause her to get angry again when she appeared to have calmed down, "So, where just going to ring the doorbell?" he looked over at Sherlock.

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded, "Just here, please," he called to the driver.

"You didn't even change your clothes," John eyed him, frowning.

"Then it's time to add a splash of colour," he replied, shrugging as both his companions cast him curious looks.

The taxi slowed and came to a stop beside the curb, Sherlock quickly climbed out, leaving John to pay as he began strolling off down the street and turned down into an alley, forcing Amelia and John to hurry after him, still wondering exactly what he had planned as he began pulling his scarf off, coming to a stop in the middle of the alley, chucking the scarf at Amelia, who only just managed to catch it, having not expected it.

John frowned again and cast his eyes around as the other man turned to them, "Are we here?"

"No, its two streets away," Amelia answered for Sherlock, eyeing him with a frown of her own, apparently knowing as much as John as to what Sherlock was up to.

"But this'll do," Sherlock nodded, seeming to be trying to prepare himself for something.

"For what?" John questioned, blankly.

He gestured to his left cheek, turning his head in John's direction, "Punch me in the face".

"Did you just…" Amelia trailed off, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and amusement, looking in-between both men as she grabbed her handbag that she had hanging over her shoulder, and began quickly searching inside it for her phone. If Sherlock was going to get punch, there was no way she was going to miss out on getting it on tape. Lestrade would never forgive her.

"Punch you?" John repeated, seeming to find it hard to believe what he had just heard.

"Yes, punch me," Sherlock told him, sounding somewhat impatient, "In the face," he gestured to his left cheek again, giving him a look, "Didn't you hear me?"

"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking," he replied, causing Amelia to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing, holding her phone up, ready to start recording, "But it's usually sub-text".

Sherlock looked away in exasperation, "Oh, for God's sakes…" he muttered before suddenly punching John in the face, causing the other man to grunt in pain, reeling back from the force of the blow as Amelia fumbled to hit record.

"Who needs a bottle of alcohol when you have a gem like this?" Amelia grinned to herself as she stepped back, feeling somewhat disappointed that she wasn't in John's shoes…or though, getting punched really wasn't something that she envied.

Sherlock shook his hand, taking a deep breath, seeming to be trying to brace himself as John straightened, giving him a murderous look before punching him right across the face, sending the curly haired man to the ground, "Ow," he winced, looking down at his fist, examining it as he opened and closed his fingers.

Slowly, Sherlock pulled himself off the ground and straightened, holding his left cheek where a small cut was starting to trickle blood, his eyes and voice slightly dazed, "Thank you," he began, "That was…that was…"

John, on the other hand, appeared to have not forgiven him quite as quickly and lunged at him, sending a punch to his stomach, and sending him back to the ground, continuing his assault, all the while Amelia stilled filmed, wincing as Sherlock doubled over with John on his back, practically straggling him, still looking murderous, no doubt fuelled by months of pent up frustration and anger.

"Okay!" Sherlock managed to choke out, trying to pull his flatmates arms from around his throat as Amelia started to feel worried, "I think we're done now, John…"

"You wanna remember, Sherlock," John growled angrily, not relenting in the slightest, "I was a solider. I_ killed_ people".

"You were a doctor!"

"I had bad days!"

Amelia ended the recoding and quickly slipped her phone back in her bag, edging closer to them, feeling slightly concerned that John would lash out at her. After all, he had every right to still have pent up anger at her own betray of their friendship, or though, she knew perfectly well that John wouldn't act out on any anger towards her physically, "Ah, John?" she tried to keep her voice calm and soothing, casting a concerned look at Sherlock, who was starting to take on a unpleasant blue colour, "Perhaps you should let him go no. It wouldn't do to cause the man who you have to live with any real bodily harm, now, would it?"

"It'll be worth it," John replied aggressively, still not letting go of Sherlock's throat.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, "Oh, where's a gardening hose when you need one?"

…

Eventually, and with a little bit of bribery on Amelia's part, John finally released his hold on Sherlock and stepped away, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself down as Sherlock, coughing and clutching at his throat, rolled onto his back for a moment or two, until he managed to regain the full use of his lungs once more and straightened.

Once back on his feet, he finally explained to them exactly what the whole idea of getting John to punch him was about, informing them that he intended to act as if he was a vicar who had been attacked, hence the bleeding cut on his cheek, and as demonstrated by plucking a piece of stiff white paper out of his pocket, and tucking it under the collar of his black shirt. And then it came to John and Amelia's roles, both playing concerned citizens who had witnessed the attack.

Amelia couldn't help but feel somewhat dubious about the whole plan. Yes, it was good, and she probably would have felt perfectly fine about it any other time, but it was just something about the whole case that made her feel as if there was more to it, that they weren't seeing the whole picture quite yet, and that made her nervous. Still, she kept quiet and nodded in agreement with the plan, since she really didn't have anything else to go on other than just a gut feeling, and to be honest, she was tired of constantly fighting with Sherlock about everything, because the truth of why she had been acting so difficult since the moment she had meet him, was because of the fear of him discovering who her brother was, but now…he knew, and she could finally start trying to get along with him.

Of course, that didn't mean she was going to act completely different and not argue with him, since that side of her was still there, she was just going to…try a little harder to be friendlier.

Once they had finished hearing Sherlock's plan, they headed off down the street, and off to forty four Eaton Square, where Sherlock immediately began enacting his plan, making himself look wide eyed and fearful, tears brimming in his eyes as he shifted anxiously on the spot, and rang the doorbell, while Amelia tried very, very hard to look sympathetic rather than angry, knowing what her house had been turned into.

A moment past before a woman's voice rang out from the intercom system, "Hello?"

"Ooh!" Sherlock gasped, putting on a posh voice as he looked up at the camera, his eyes purposely flickering around nervously, as if he was about to be attacked again, "Um…sorry to disturb you," he stuttered, "Um…I've just been attacked, um, and, um, I think they…they took my wallet and…um, and my phone," he bit his lip anxiously, looking pleadingly up at the camera again, "Umm, please could you help me?"

"I can phone the police if you want?" the woman's voice offered.

"Thank you," he gasped tearfully, "Thank you! Could you, please?" he stepped back slightly, making sure that his fake priests collar was in view, "Oh, would you…would you mind if I just waited here, just until they come?" he asked, "Thank you. Thank you so much," and pressed a white handkerchief to the cut on his cheek, giving a pathetic little sob as he looked away, just as the door buzzed and he, followed by John and Amelia, quickly entered into a lavish, entrance with a long, winding staircase, "Thank you," he continued acting, still pressing the handkerchief to his cheek, quickly casting a look around the room, "Er…ooh…"

John closed the door behind them, glancing at a red headed young woman, who was standing slightly off to the side, watching them with an almost sympathetic look on her face, "I…I saw it all happen," he informed her, "It's okay, I'm a doctor," the woman nodded, "Now, have you got a first aid kit?"

"In the kitchen," she replied, glancing at Sherlock and Amelia, "Please," she gestured towards were an open door was leading into another room, which Amelia had used as the room she had usually used when interviewing new clients. She felt very strange, having to pretend as if she had never been inside the house before, and didn't quite trust herself to say anything. She couldn't even bring herself to look at the staircase, remembering how she and James had liked to try sliding down the banister as kids…that was, of course, until James had fallen off and broken his collar bone when they were nine.

"Oh!" Sherlock nodded, moving into the room, sending Amelia a look as she reluctantly followed him, "Thank you!" he called back to the woman.

"Thank you," John nodded, following after the woman.

The room was large, with high ceilings, wooden floorboards, a fireplace, and large bay widows that were furnished with big, sweeping, silvery blue curtains, while the walls were covered in pale blue and gold panelling. The room was elegant, with a cream leather sofa that Sherlock and Amelia moved over towards and sat on, facing the fireplace.

"Stop it," Sherlock, dropping his act, snapped quietly at Amelia, who was tapping her high heeled shoes on the wooden floor, looking jittery.

"Sorry," Amelia sighed heavily, forcing herself to stay still, glancing over at him, "It's just…being in this house right now, having to pretend as if I have no emotional attachment to it, nor feel upset by the fact that a dominatrix has been playing house in it is quite hard, Sherlock".

"It's only a house".

She shook her head, giving him a frown, "To you, perhaps, but to me it's a part of my childhood," she groaned, closing her eyes, "Damn, I should have made sure to check out who was renting it before giving the okay".

He shot her an irritated look and opened his mouth, when a woman's voice suddenly called from outside the closed door, followed by footsteps, "Hello, sorry to hear that you've been hurt," Amelia quickly tried to make herself look sympathetic as Sherlock held the handkerchief to his cheek once more, hunching over, "I don't think Kate caught your name…"

"I'm so sorry," Sherlock began, looking over to the doorway, "I'm…" he trailed off, his mouth falling open slightly.

Amelia frowned slightly at his reaction, wondering why on Earth he had just stopped mid-sentence, and looked over to the doorway, and realised just why he had stopped, her eyes widening before she quickly adverted them, because there she was, Irene Adler, completely naked save for a pair of black Louboutin heels and red lipstick.

"Oh, it's always hard to remember an alias when you've had a fright, isn't it?" Irene remarked, a small smirk playing on her lips as she strolled calmly into the room, coming to a stop directly in front of Sherlock, straddling his legs as she reached forwards, and plucked the fake vicars collar from his shirt, seeming to not even have noticed Amelia, who tried very hard push away the urge to move to the very end of the sofa, "There now," she continued smirking at him, "We're_ both_ defrocked…" she glanced at his face, "…Mr Sherlock Holmes".

Sherlock meet her eyes, apparently having gotten over his initial shock, "Miss Adler, I presume," he replied, his voice returning to normal.

"Look at those cheekbones," she continued, gazing down at his face, "I could cut myself slapping that," she raised a suggestive eyebrow at him, "Would you like me to try?" she narrowed her eyes and lifted the fake collar into her mouth, bitting it.

Sherlock simply looked up at her, appearing to be confused before a look of impatiens crossed his face, seeming to be growing annoyed at Irene's behaviour as Amelia wished very dearly that she had gone with John, when, as if on cue, John appeared in the doorway, his eyes focused on a bowl with a towel hanging over the side, trying not to spill the contents.

"Right, this should do it," he commented, finally looking up, and coming to a dead stop at seeing the sight in front of him as Irene glanced at him, the collar still in her mouth. His mouth fell open slightly before quickly looking away from her and awkwardly down at the bowl, and back up again, "I've missed something, haven't I?" he finally said.

"Oh, it's been _quite_ a show," Amelia agreed uncomfortably, still keeping her eyes everywhere and anywhere from the naked woman.

Irene removed the fake collar out of her mouth, smirking at John before casting a glance over at Amelia, seeming pleased by her remark, "Please, sit down," she turned back to him as she stood, Sherlock seemed to be relieved when she finally stopped straddling his legs, "Oh, if you'd like some tea I can call for the maid".

"I had some at the Palace," Sherlock informed her.

"I know," she replied, sitting down in an armchair close to them, crossing her arms and legs, finally covering herself up enough that Amelia could actually look at her and not feel uncomfortable.

"Clearly," he responded, eyeing her for a moment, seeming to be weighing each other up.

John, his eyes focused on Irene, stepped forward, "I had a tea, too, at the Palace, if anyone's interested," he awkwardly tried.

Neither Sherlock, nor Irene even glanced at him as the curly haired man's eyes narrowed, trying to deduce her, but in her state, he came up with nothing. Frowning, he turned to Amelia, and began deducing her: new shoes, he glanced down at her shoes before looking at the dark circles she had attempted cover up with makeup, trouble sleeping, glanced at her hair, switched to a new shampoo, and sniffed the air, detecting a new perfume, something with a vanilla scent...ah, Vanille Exquise.

He then turned to John, running his eyes over him: Two day shirt, he ran his eyes over John's neckline, before moving onto his face, electric blade, glanced down at his jeans and shoes, date tonight…

John frowned at him, seeming to realise that something was going on with his flatmate, but Sherlock ignored him, continuing with his deductions before turning back to Irene, running his eyes over her again, only…there was nothing. Still, nothing. He frowned at her, completely baffled for the first time in his life in attempting to read someone, he came up with _nothing_.

"D'you know the big problem with a disguise, Mr Holmes?" Irene asked him, smiling confidently at him, practically mocking his failure at deducing her. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her, "However hard you try, it's always a self-portrait".

"You think I'm a vicar with a bleeding face?" he scoffed at her slightly.

"No, I think you're damaged, delusional, and believe in a higher power," she replied, "In your case, it's yourself," he frowned at her as he began to unbutton the top two buttons of his shirt, still watching her as she lend towards him, "Oh, but somebody loves you," she remarked, smirking, "Why, if _I_ had to punch that face, I'd avoid your nose and teeth, too," she looked over to John, who forced a laugh.

"Could you put something on, please?" John asked quickly, "Er…anything at all," he looked down at the bowl and towel still in his hands, gesturing to a corner of the cloth, "A napkin…"

"Yes, please," Amelia muttered to herself, her eyes focused straight in front of her, at the fireplace.

"Why?" Irene raised her eyebrows at him, "Are you feeling exposed?" she smirked suggestively at him.

Sherlock stood and began shaking out his coat, "I don't think John knows where to look," he remarked, holding out his coat for Irene to cover herself with, but she completely ignored him as she stood, and strolled closer to John, who was trying very hard to look at her eyes, and not the rest of her body.

"No, I think he knows _exactly_ where," she commented before turning back to Sherlock, who was still holding the coat and refusing to look at her, "I don't know about _you_," she took the offered coat and started pulling it on.

"If I wanted to look at naked woman I'd borrow John's laptop," Sherlock responded, still not looking at Irene, "Or into Amelia's bedroom".

Amelia cast him a look, "Oh, you mean like last week?" she enquired with a clearly annoyed tone in her voice. She shook her head and glanced at John, "I walked out of my bathroom and there he was in my bed room, wanting to know if he could borrow some of my lipstick for an experiment. Thank goodness I was wearing a towel".

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her, not seeming to be bothered in the slightest, "You where the one who threatened to leak a video to Lestrade if I ever took something out of your flat without asking you first," he shrugged, "I only followed your rules".

"Not when I'm only wearing a bloody towel, Holmes!"

John stared at them, wide eyed, "Er…what video?" he asked curiously.

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look, "Forget it".

He eyed them both for a moment, coughing slightly, "You _do_ borrow my laptop," he pointed out after a moment.

"I confiscate it," he moved across the room and over to the fireplace opposite the sofa before coming to a stop, and turning back around to face the room.

"Well, never mind," Irene cut in, pulling Sherlock's coat around her, "We've got better things to talk about. Now tell me, I need to know," she moved over to the sofa, taking a seat beside Amelia, who tried hard not to shift away from her, "How it was done?" she finished, glancing over at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned at her in confusion, "What?"

She began slipping off her shoes, "The hiker with the bashed-in head," she clarified, "How was he killed?"

He, Amelia, and John exchanged a confused look, before he turned back to her, "That's not why we're here…" he told her.

"No, no, no, you're here for the photographs but that's _never_ gonna happen, and since we're here just chatting anyway…"

"That story's not been on the news yet," John eyed her, frowning as he moved around to stand in front of the sofa, "How do you know about it?"

"I know one of the policemen," Irene informed them, shrugging, "Well, I know what he _likes_".

"Oh…" he sat on the sofa, looking around Amelia to see her, "And you like policemen?"

"I like detective stories," she replied, smiling, "And detectives. Brainy's the new sexy," she smirked and looked at Amelia, raising her eyebrows at her, "Isn't that right, Amelia?"

Amelia blinked at her, surprised that Irene had apparently decided to acknowledge her existence, "I'm surprised that we actually have something in common other than an excellent taste in shoes," she nodded to the heels sitting on the floor beside the sofa, continuing, "Or though, I somehow doubt that there's very much else we would agree on, and I also should point out that as a detective myself, that's rather a default like for me".

"A default?" she eyed her, still smirking at her as if she knew something she didn't, "Oh, I'm sure that's not completely true".

"Postionofthecar…" Sherlock suddenly spoke so quickly that he was completely incoherent, causing Amelia, John, and Irene to stare at him as he quickly tried to pull himself together, forcing himself to slow down, "Er…position of the car relative to the hiker at the time of the backfire," he began explaining, his speech still fast as he started pacing in front of them, his arms crossed behind his back, "That and the fact that the death blow was to the back of the head. That's all you need to know," he finished.

"Okay, tell me," Irene nodded, leaning towards him, "How was he murdered?"

He raised his eyebrows at her, "He wasn't," he replied simply.

"You don't think it was murder?"

"I _know_ it wasn't".

"How?"

"The same way that I know the victim was an excellent sportsmen recently returned from foreign travel and that the photographs we're looking for are in this room".

Irene frowned at him, watching him closely, "Okay, but how?"

"So they _are_ in this room," Sherlock turned to look at her sharply, smiling slowly, "Thank you," he glanced at John, "John, man the door," he ordered him, "Let no-one in," he and John exchanged a look as the other man nodded, and stood, placing the bowl of water on a small side table before heading outside the room, closing the door behind him. Irene straightened, looking towards the closed door, seeming to be slightly alarmed as Sherlock jumped straight back into talking, pacing once more, "Two men alone in the countryside several yards apart, and one car".

"Oh," she blinked, looking slightly taken back at his sudden turn in the conversation, not seeming to realise that he was distracting her, "I…I thought you were looking for the photos now".

"No, no," he shook his head, turning away and facing the fireplace, eyeing the large mirror hanging over it, "Looking takes ages. We're just going to find them, but you're moderately clever…" Amelia noted that Irene seemed more amused then offended by his remark, "…and we're got a moment, so let's pass the time," he turned back around to face her, "Two men in a car, and nobody else," he began, "The driver's trying to fix his engine. Getting nowhere. And the hiker's taking a moment, looking at the sky…"

Amelia nodded slowly, thinking it over, "Is he…no…" she trailed off, shaking her head with a frown, "Somehow I don't think he was watching birds".

Sherlock inclined his head in her direction, continuing, "Any moment now, something's gonna happen. What?" he raised his eyebrows at Irene.

"The hiker's going to die," Irene replied.

"No, that's the result," he corrected as Amelia shook her head at her, her mind buzzing with all the information, knowing she was missing something, something so obvious, "What's going to _happen_?" he asked her again.

She frowned at him, looking confused, "I don't understand".

"Oh, well, try to," he sighed, beginning to grow annoyed at her slowness.

"Why?"

"Because you cater to the whims of the pathetic and take your clothes off to make an impression. Stop boring me and _think_," he shot her a look, saying sarcastically, "It's the new sexy".

Irene paused, taking a moment to think, "The car's going to backfire," she finally said.

"There's going to be a loud noise…"

"Oh!" Amelia gasped quietly as it suddenly hit her, feeling completely idiotic that she hadn't seen it sooner.

"Ah, finally," Sherlock glanced at her before casting Irene an annoyed look, "At least someone else in this room knows how to use their mind, be it slowly…"

"So, what?" Irene questioned, sounding frustrated.

"Oh, noises are important," he remarked, "Noises can tell you everything. For instance…" he paused dramatically and turned to look at her, watching her reaction closely as the smoke alarm began beeping loudly outside the room. Irene looked towards the closed door, looking alarmed before turning back quickly, her eyes focused on the mirror over the fireplace mantel as Sherlock and Amelia followed her gaze, "Thank you," he stepped over towards the fireplace, eyeing the mirror closely, "On hearing a smoke alarm, a mother would look towards her child. Amazing how fire exposes out priorities," he began running his hand under the mantel, finding a switch beneath it, and pressing it. The mirror slid smoothly up to reveal a small wall safe. Both woman stood as he glanced at Irene, "I _really_ hope you don't have a baby in here".

"You do realise that is breaking your renting contract," Amelia crossed her arms across her chest, looking annoyed as she shot Irene a look, "What else have you put in?" she demanded.

Irene scoffed at her, "Oh, like you couldn't afford to put things back the way they were".

"Not now, Amelia," Sherlock cast her a stern look before refocusing on the safe, "All right, John, you can turn it off now," he called as the smoke alarm continued beeping, calling louder again, "I said you can turn it off now!"

"Give me a minute!" John called back, and a moment later the alarm finally stopped.

"Hmm…" he hummed thoughtfully, examining the keypad closely on the safe, "Should always use gloves with these things, you know," he informed Irene, who didn't seem quite as concerned as she had before, "Heaviest oil deposit's always on the first key used, that's quite clearly the three, but after that the sequence is almost impossible to read," he continued, all the while Irene had a strange smile across her face, "I'd say from the make that it's a six figure digit code. Can't be your birthday, no disrespect but clearly you were born in the eighties; the eights barely used, so…"

"I'd tell you the code right now but you know what?" Irene cut in, moving over towards the bay window, looking back at him, "I already have," she smirked as he frowned and Amelia eyed her, "_Think_".

Suddenly, the door burst open and a man marched in, aiming a gun with a silencer on it at them, before coming to rest of Sherlock, "Hands behind your head," he ordered Irene and Amelia, "On the floor. Keep it still".

A second man entered and walked over to Irene, grabbing her roughly as John was forced into the room by a third man, and fourth man stepped over to Amelia and shoved her onto her knees, causing her to wince, where she was joined by John, the two of them placing their hands behind their heads as Sherlock raised his own hands up.

"Sorry, Sherlock, Amelia," John sighed as two guns were aimed at them.

The first man turned and glared at Irene, "Miss Adler, on the floor," he commanded as the man holding Irene forced her onto her knees beside Amelia.

"Don't you want me on the floor too?" Sherlock asked the first man, sounding quite calm despite the situation, raising a somewhat mocking eyebrow.

"No, sir," the man turned back to him, his gun still aiming at Sherlock, "I want you to open the safe".

"American," he noted the man's accent, "Interesting," he eyed him thoughtfully, "Why would _you_ care?" he glanced over at Irene, who slowly put her hands behind her head.

"Sir, the safe, _now_, please".

"I don't know the code".

"We've been listening," the man informed them, casting a look over towards Irene, "She said she told you".

"Well, if you'd been listening, you'd know she _didn't_," Sherlock tried to tell the other man.

"I'm assuming I missed something," he replied, frowning, "From your reputation, I'm assuming you didn't, Mr Holmes," he narrowed his eyes and glanced over at Amelia, "Or maybe your_ colleague_ would be able to help…"

Amelia swallowed thickly as she felt the gun that was aimed at the back of her head press coldly into the base of her neck, sending a cold shiver to run down her spin, "I assure you," she began, trying not to let her voice shake, keeping her eyes firmly on the floor, "I don't know anything…"

"For God's sake!" John exclaimed, "_She's_ the one who knows the code," he gestured roughly with his head over at Irene, "Ask her".

"Yes, sir," the apparent leading of the group of men agreed, "She also knows the code that automatically calls the police and sets off the burglar alarm. I've learned not to trust this woman".

"Mr Holmes doesn't…" Irene began, only to be cut off by the man.

"Shut up," he ordered harshly, barely glancing at her as Sherlock looked over at her, exchanging a small look, "One more word out of you, just one, and I will decorate that wall with the inside of your head," he smiled strangely, "That, for me, will not be a hardship," Sherlock glared at him, "Mr Archer, at the count of three, shoot Doctor Watson," he ordered calmly.

"What?" John gaped, his eyes widening as Amelia bit her lip nervously.

"I don't have the code," Sherlock quickly told the man.

"One," the man behind John pressed the gun into the back of John's neck, who tried to move away, cocking the gun.

"I don't know the code," he tried again.

"Two".

"She didn't tell me," he raised his voice, a touch of desperation entering his voice, "I don't know it!"

"I'm prepared to believe you any second now," Sherlock looked over at Irene, who lowered her eyes to the floor, "Three…"

"No, stop!" he shouted.

The leader held up a hand, stopping Archer from shooting just yet at John, who was breathing a little heavier than normal, his eyes closed tightly. Amelia sighed in relief, feeling a little bit of the worry fade away as she watched Sherlock slowly turn to face the safe, seeming to be thinking very fast as he slowly reached towards the keypad, all the while carefully being watched by the leader. He pushed the '3', then the '2' before hesitating over the '2' once more, and pressing it, moving over to the '3' again, pressing it, before pressing the '4'. The safe beeped and a clicking sound of it unlocking sounded through the room as Amelia took a deep breath, John sagged lower on his knees beside her, closing his eyes again.

"Thank you, Mr Holmes," the leader called, "Open it, please".

Sherlock twisted the button on safe that would open the door, but paused, glancing over to Irene, who lowered her eyes back to the floor, giving a small nod. He turned back to the safe, calling suddenly urgent, "Vatican cameos!"

Immediately, Amelia and John threw themselves onto the floor, just as Sherlock pulled the safe's door open, ducking well below the mantel of the fireplace as a pistol that had been attached to a tripwire to the door, fired, hitting Archer in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor beside Amelia, who, acting faster than she would have thought possible, snatched Archer's gun off the floor and kicked out at the man who had been behind her in the knees, sending him sprawling on the floor, his gun skidding across the floor as he fell.

Breathing heavily, and feeling strangely light headed, she climbed somewhat shakily back onto her feet, aiming her newly acquired weapon at the man that was still lying on the ground, while John stared at her, opened mouthed with shock. She didn't blame him, she felt pretty shocked herself, but she simply shrugged back at him and handed him the gun, taking a step back, and trying not to wince as John whacked the man across the back of the head, knocking him out.

They looked up and over to Sherlock to see him standing, quite calmly, in the middle of the living room with a gun, the leading of the men crumpled on the floor, apparently unconscious. He glanced over at them, his eyebrows rising slightly in surprise as he took in the sight of them, seeming to put together what happened before he looked over to Irene, who was standing over her own guard with a gun aimed at his head.

"Do you mind?" he asked her.

"Not at all," Irene replied, slamming her gun across the man's face, sending him crashing to the ground, knocked out.

Sherlock turned to the open safe, grabbing something out of it as John moved over to Archer, and checked him before standing, "He's dead," he announced, gesturing down to the man.

"Thank you," Irene began to Sherlock, still aiming her gun at the man she had just knocked out, "You were very observant".

John frowned, glancing up, "Observant?"

"I'm flattered," she continued.

"Don't be," Sherlock told her.

"Flattered?" John repeated, still confused as she looked at Amelia, who simply shrugged, not entirely sure exactly what they were talking about.

"There'll be more of them," he looked around the room, ignoring John, "They'll be keeping an eye on the building," he walked out of the room, John and Amelia right on his heels as John tucked the gun in the back of his jeans.

They walked out into the entrance hall and out into the street, "We should call the police," Amelia remarked, casting a look around the empty street, still feeling slightly shaken by her tussle with the man inside.

"Yes," Sherlock agreed, pointing his gun into the air and firing it five times, having removed the silencer. Somewhere, down the street, tires screeched loudly as John and Amelia both jumped, covering their ears, "On their way," he commented calmly, moving past them and back inside the house.

"Sherlock!" Amelia exclaimed.

"For God's sake!" John groaned loudly.

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock rolled his eyes at them, "It's quick," they moved back inside the house and into the living room, "Check the rest of the house," he told Amelia and John, "See how they got in".

Amelia sighed, grabbing John's arm, "Come on, let's start up stairs".

She cast one final look in the room, feeling curious to know what Sherlock was up to, before she turned and led John out into the entrance, and up the stairs. Once they reached the top of the landing, they paused to check a few of the rooms, finding nothing before moving to the end of the hall, where a door was left slightly open. John, seeing as he had the gun in case there was anyone waiting for them inside, went first and stepped inside.

The room was large and high ceilinged, just like the living room below, only this room had black floorboards and black patterned panelled wall paper on the walls, once again elegantly furnished with a large bed and dressing table. As Amelia and John moved into the room, they spotted the red headed woman who had let them inside earlier that day lying on the floor, John immediately rushed over to her and began checking her pulse.

"Sherlock!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Amelia cast the woman a slightly concerned look before moving around her and John, stepping over to where the bathroom door was left open on the other side of the bed, a chilly breeze fluttering the curtains of an open window, "The windows open in here," she informed John.

Before he could say anything, footsteps sounded from outside, and Sherlock, followed closely by Irene, entered the room, causing John to glance up at him, "The windows open in the bathroom," he repeated to Sherlock, who moved around the bed to look at the bathroom himself, "Must have come in this way".

"Clearly," Sherlock remarked.

Irene walked over to the woman on the floor, looking slightly concerned as John straightened, "It's all right," he assured her, "She's just out cold".

"Well, God knows she's used to that," Irene commented, looking up at John, casting Amelia a look, "There's a back door. Better check it, Doctor Watson, Amelia".

Sherlock moved back into the room, obviously seen enough in the bathroom as John looked questioningly at him and Amelia raised her eyebrows suspiciously at Irene. Sherlock gave them a nod, refocusing his attention back on Irene.

John sighed, nodding, "Sure," and walked out of the room.

Amelia hesitated, not feeling right about leaving Sherlock alone with Irene, but she after a moment, she sighed and turned on her heel, following John back down stairs. She didn't like it, there was just something strange about the way that Irene had seemed to want Sherlock to be alone. Of course, that could just simply be because she wanted to play one of her little games with him, and her and John were simply a distraction, but something told her that wasn't the case.

Resigned to the fact she couldn't do anything, she continued to make her way back down stairs, trying hard to keep any emotional attachment she felt towards the house away, but it was quite hard, and the fact that there was a dead man in her living room really didn't make thing's any better. She tried, instead, to focus on the furniture, since at least with that she didn't feel the slightest bit of attachment for, but even then she couldn't help but place her own furniture in their rightful spots around the house.

She sighed and shook her head, making a mental note to make an urgent meeting with her real estate agent the moment they got back to Baker Street, then she was going to have to repaint and wall paper everything, because there was no way she was ever going to feel comfortable sleeping in the master bedroom or reading one of her books in the living room after this.

It only took a moment to catch up with John and she led him through to the kitchen, and down a small hallway with two doors leading off it, one leading down to the cellar and another into a laundry room, while at the end of the hall was the back door. It only took them a second to check that everything was in ordered before they headed back upstairs.

A funny thud sounded as they reached the landing, like a body hitting the wooden floor, and they quickly hurried into the master bedroom to find Sherlock lying on his back on the floor, seeming to be trying to struggle to move, while Irene stood over the top of him, a riding crop in her hands as she slipped what looked like a phone into her…well, Sherlock's coat pocket. A plastic syringe was lying on the ground beside Sherlock, empty.

"Oh, my…Sherlock!" Amelia gasped, looking shocked and very worried as she threw herself into the room, and on her knees beside Sherlock, her eyes wide as she took in his dazed, confused expression across his face, "What the hell happened?" she breathed.

John rounded on Irene, glaring at her, "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"He'll sleep for a few hours," Irene told them, completely unaffected by their concern and anger as she moved into the bathroom. John moved over to Sherlock and picked up the syringe, frowning down at it, "Make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. It makes for a very unattractive corpse".

She sat herself on the open window sill in the bathroom, "What's this?" John asked her angrily, holding up the syringe as Amelia pulled Sherlock's head into her lap, not wanting him to cause himself more damage by smacking the back of his head on the hard floor as he tried to rise, "What have you given him?" he looked back down at his flatmate, calling, "Sherlock!"

"He'll be fine," she rolled her eyes at them, propping her bare foot on the top of the bathtub, holding onto a rope, "I've used it on loads of my friends".

"Oh, that makes it so much better," Amelia glared at her before turning back to Sherlock, lightly tapping his face, trying to get a repose out of him, "Come, Sherlock. Wake up…"

Irene didn't seemed bothered in the slightest by her glare and simply looked back at Sherlock, "You know, he was wrong about him," she remarked, almost seeming thoughtful, "He _did_ know where to look".

John straightened from where he had been kneeling beside Sherlock and turned to her, frowning, "For what?" he asked, sounding confused, "What are you talking about?"

"The key to my safe".

"What was it?" he asked as Amelia looked up, looking just as confused as he did.

Irene looked back at Sherlock, "Shall I tell them?" she raised her eyebrows as the sound of police sirens sounded from outside, John looked back at his flatmate before turning back to her as she smiled slowly, "My _measurements_," and with that, she pushed herself backwards with her foot and toppled backwards out of the window, still holding the rope.

John raced over to the window, looking out as Sherlock continued trying to rise, struggling to try and move, Amelia simply tried to keep him still, muttering soothing words under her breath, until he finally seemed to slip into unconsciousness…

….

Later that afternoon, after Amelia and John had managed to half drag, half carry Sherlock back to Baker Street, after having explained to Lestrade what had happened. Lestrade, of course, had laughed himself almost to tears when he caught sight of the mess Sherlock was in, and had even stated recording him.

Once they got back to the flat, they managed to get him into his own bed, fully clothed, before going back into the kitchen where John set to work making a cup of tea.

"He's going to be fine, Amelia," John assured her after a few minutes, noticing her casting a worried glance towards the end of the hallway, where Sherlock's bedroom was.

Amelia sighed and nodded, giving him an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, John," she gave him a small smile, "It's just strange to see Sherlock so defenceless and…" she trailed off, not quite sure how to word it.

"Human?" he offered, a weary smile crossing his face as he took a sip of his tea.

She laughed, "Not quite what I was looking for, but it will do," she told him, shaking her head in amusement, "Irene certainly did a number on him".

"That she did," John agreed, nodding.

Suddenly, Sherlock's voice rang down the hall, calling loudly, "John! Amelia!"

They both looked in the direction, exchanging a quick look as they stood, and made their way down the hall, opening the bedroom door, just as Sherlock seemed to have lost his balance and fallen off the end of his bed. It was quite an amusing sight to see Sherlock Holmes, still looking somewhat dazed and dishevelled, scrambling clumsily on the floor, trying to stand.

"You okay?" John asked him, trying not to laugh at the sight.

Sherlock looked around his room, frowning in confusion before fixing them both with an accusing look, "How did I get here?"

"Well, I don't suppose you remember much," John nodded, exchanging a glance with Amelia, "You weren't making a lot of sense," he paused, remembering, "Oh, I should warn you: I think Lestrade filmed you on his phone…"

"He's planning to send it all around Scotland Yard for Christmas," Amelia added quietly, biting her bottom lip in an attempt not to laugh.

Sherlock slowly pulled himself to his feet, glaring around the room…or as much as he could in his condition, "Where is she?" he asked.

John frowned, glancing at Amelia, "Where's who?"

"The woman. That woman".

"What woman?"

He tried to walk towards them and stumbled. Amelia, taking pity on him, stepped forward and grabbed his arm, helping him to stand upright, "The _woman_," he continued, getting more and more worked up, "The _woman_ woman!"

"He mean's Irene Adler, John," Amelia cut in, shaking her head slightly.

"Oh!" John nodded in realisation, "She got away. No one saw her," they watched as Sherlock pulled himself away from Amelia and began stumbling over towards the open window, trying to look out, "She wasn't here, Sherlock," he sighed, watching him as he fell on the floor and began trying to look under the bed, "What are you…" he tried to look over at his wardrobe, John shook his head, "What…no, no, no, no," and grabbed him around the middle, hauling him back up and onto the bed, face first, "Back to bed. You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep".

Amelia rolled her eyes slightly, but couldn't help but smile a little fondly as she gently pulled the covers over him, "Of course I'll be fine," Sherlock muttered into his pillow, his voice slurred and muffled, "I am fine. I'm absolutely fine".

"Of course you are," she scoffed, shaking her head in amusement.

"Now, we'll be next door if you need us," John informed him, moving towards the bedroom door.

"Why would I need you?"

He rolled his eyes, "No reason at all".

John left the room and Amelia pattered Sherlock's arm lightly as she stepped over to the door, calling back into the room quietly before closing the door behind her, "Sweet dreams, Holmes".

_**Sorry about the wait, but hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner. I've been looking forward to writing it for a while now, so it should be fun. I'm even debating on whether to write a piece of original writing into the middle of it, which I probably will end up doing, since it's going to play a role towards the end of this season. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought, please review :)**_

_**Guest reviews:**_

_**KD:**__** I can't say for certain when Sherlock/Amelia will happen, because I'm not even sure yet. The first story is really when Amelia was mainly focused on trying to keep her distance from him in the hopes of keeping her secret safe. Hence, why she acted quite difficult towards him at times, but in this story she's not worried about keeping her secret, she can allow herself to get closer to Sherlock without fear, and she will start changing her views on dating. I'm not sure if they will end up together in this story, it's possible, but I'm still unsure. The timing for both character's need to be right, and at the moment there both nowhere near ready to start developing a romantic relationship with each other. First they need to build a friendship. That won't stop a few hints and maybe a bit of flirty banter being thrown in every now and again, though. Thanks for the review :)**_

_**Lw:**__** I apologise for the lateness of this update, it's not always easy to find the time, but I hope you liked it. Thanks for the review :)**_

_**G:**__** Well, here's that update, but sadly the romance is still pretty lacking. I had thought about having Amelia kiss Sherlock's head at the end there, rather than pat his arm, but it didn't feel right. It felt too soon and out of character for her at this stage, but I promise we will get there eventually. Thanks for the review :)**_


	3. Chapter 3 A Scandal in Belgravia, Part 3

_**A Scandal in Belgravia, Part 3**_

The next morning found Sherlock fully recovered from his little drugging incident the day before, and looking quite refreshed as he sat at the table in the middle of Baker Street's living room, reading the morning newspaper, John sitting across from him while Amelia was in the middle, eating breakfast. Even Mycroft had made an appearance, or though it was clear from the frown on his face as he stood close by that it wasn't a social visit.

"The photographs are perfectly safe," Sherlock told his brother from behind the paper, sounding slightly annoyed.

Mycroft cast him a look, "In the hands of a fugitive sex worker," he argued.

The paper rustled and Sherlock lowered it so that he could glare at Mycroft, "She's not interested in blackmail," he replied, "She wants…" he narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, "…protection for some reason," he glanced over at the other man, "I take it you've stood down the police investigation into the shooting at her house?"

Amelia coughed pointedly, "_My_ house, Sherlock," she reminded him, throwing a glare over her shoulder at Mycroft. She still remembered that he had known and hadn't even bothered to warn her.

"How can we do anything while she has the photographs?" Mycroft frowned at him, apparently ignoring Amelia's comment, "Our hands are tied".

"She'd applaud your choice of words," he remarked, causing John and Amelia to smirk, and Mycroft to roll his eyes in exasperation. He turned serious, "You see how this works: that camera phone is her 'get out of jail free' card. You have to leave her alone," he turned back to his paper before adding mockingly, "Treat her like royalty, Mycroft".

"Though not the way _she_ treats royalty," John commented, glancing up from his breakfast and giving him a sarcastic smile, receiving a humours smile in return as Amelia laughed, quickly covering it up by taking a sip of tea.

A loud, orgasmic woman's moan filled the room. Amelia frowned over her tea cup, looking over at Sherlock with narrowed eyes, who seemed to be avoiding her eyes, while John and Mycroft frowned, looking around the rest of the room.

"What was that?" John asked.

"Text," Sherlock replied, trying hard to seem casual, closing his newspaper.

"But what was that_ noise_?"

They watched as he stood and walked over to the fireplace and picked up his phone, reading whatever the message said, "Did you know there were other people after her, too, Mycroft, before you sent John, Amelia, and I in there?" he raised his eyebrows at his older brother and moved past him, back to his chair, "CIA-trained killers, at an excellent guess".

"Yeah, _thanks_ for that, Mycroft," John remarked sarcastically, throwing him a look over his shoulder.

Amelia nodded in agreement with John, "Well, it would seem that it's a reoccurring habit of leaving important details out," she muttered.

Mrs Hudson stepped into the room from the kitchen, having made them all breakfast, and carrying another plate, "It's a disgrace," she commented, her voice stern, sitting the plate in front of Sherlock, who was busy unfolding another paper, "Sending your little brother into danger like that. Family is all we have in the end, Mycroft Holmes".

"Oh, shut up, Mrs Hudson," Mycroft rolled his eyes at her.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted, looking furious as John glared at him, calling at the same time, "Oi!" and Amelia said loudly in unison, "Mr Holmes!"

He blinked, taking in there outraged faces and grimaced slightly, opening and closing his mouth for a moment before giving Mrs Hudson an apologetic smile, "Apologies".

Mrs Hudson nodded at him, "Thank you," and moved back towards the kitchen.

"Though do, in fact, shut up," Sherlock added, returning to his paper.

"Sherlock!" Amelia glared at him, purposely kicking his leg under the table.

He visibly winced, obviously having not expecting her to kick him, and opened his mouth to resort when his phone moaned again.

"Ooh," Mrs Hudson looked back over at them from the kitchen doorway as everyone else frowned at the phone, "It's a bit rude, that noise, isn't it?"

Sherlock checked the phone, moving his paper aside to do so, "There's nothing you can do and nothing she_ will_ do as far as I can see," he told Mycroft, returning to his paper.

Mycroft glanced down at the floor, "I can put maximum surveillance on her…"

"Why bother? You can follow her on Twitter. I believe her user name is 'TheWhipHand".

"It would hardly be 'TheFluffyBunny,' now," Amelia remarked dryly, causing John to smile.

"Yes," Mycroft cast them looks, sneering, "Most amusing," his phone rang and reached inside his pocket, looking down at the screen, "'Scuse me," he walked towards the door leading onto the landing, raising the phone to his ear, all the while being watched By Sherlock and Amelia, "Hello?"

John looked up from his breakfast to Sherlock, his eyes focusing on his phone for a second, "Why does your phone make that noise?" he questioned with a frown.

Sherlock's eyes flickered away from his brother, glancing towards the device. His face and voice carefully blank of emotions, Amelia noted, "What noise?" he asked.

"_That_ noise…the one it _just_ made".

He tried shrugging it off, "It's a text alert," he replied, his eyes returning to his paper, "It means I've got a text".

"Hmm," he nodded, still frowning, "Your texts don't usually make that noise".

"Well, somebody got hold of the phone and apparently, as a joke, personalised their text alert noise".

Amelia raised her eyebrows suspiciously at him, already having a good idea just who that might be, "_Somebody_, huh?"

"Hmm…" John nodded again, looking over at the phone, "So every time they text you…"

As if on cue, the phone went off again, moaning loudly.

"It would seem so," Sherlock remarked, folding his newspaper up, and focusing on the phone as Amelia watched him, seeming crossed between amusement and annoyance.

"Could you turn that phone down a bit?" Mrs Hudson stepped into the doorway of the kitchen, shaking her head, "At my time of life, it's…"

He checked the phone before sitting it back down on the table, glancing over at the old woman as she moved back into the kitchen, still shaking her head and muttering. His eyes caught Amelia, who was still watching him, and shot her a look. Amelia smiled at him, not in the least bit bothered by his look, returning to her quickly cooling tea.

A moment past, in which Sherlock turned back the newspaper, before John frowned, flickering through his own paper, "I'm wondering who could have got hold of your phone, because it would have been in your coat, wouldn't it?" he reasoned, narrowing his eyes as he looked over at him.

Sherlock quickly moved the paper in front of his face, shielding him from view, "I'll leave you to your deductions," he muttered, sounding a little stiff.

"Nice try, Sherlock," Amelia scoffed, shaking her head.

John smiled, "I'm not stupid, you know," he looked back to his own paper.

"Where _do_ you get that idea?"

"…Bond Air is go, that's decided," Mycroft was saying into his phone as he walked back into the room, catching Sherlock and Amelia's attention again, "Check with the Coventry lot. Talk later," he ended the call, slipping it back inside his suit pocket.

"What else does she have?" Sherlock eyed him, rolling his eyes as his brother gave him a questioning look, "Irene Adler," he clarified, roughly closing his paper, setting it aside, "The Americans wouldn't be interested in her for a couple of compromising photographs," his eyes narrowed and he stood, stepping closer to him, "There's more," Mycroft gave him a stony faced look, "_Much_ more. Something big's coming, isn't it?" he finished softly.

"Irene Adler is no longer any concern of yours," he gave him a firm look, "From now on you will stay out of this".

"Oh, _will_ I?" he gave him a challenging look as John and Amelia exchanged looks.

"Yes, Sherlock," Mycroft replied with a pleasant smile before dropping it, looking very, very serious and stern, "You _will_," Sherlock looked at him for a long, tense moment before shrugging, and walking over to his seat, grabbing his violin, "Now, if you'll excuse me," Mycroft's tone became lighter almost at once, casting John and Amelia another pleasant smile, "I have a long and arduous apology to make to a very old friend".

"Do give her my love," Sherlock remarked, settling his violin under his chin, and began playing 'God Save The Queen,' right on Mycroft's heels as he rolled his eyes at his brother's antics, and walked out of the room, heading down the stairs.

Amelia laughed, shaking her head as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand, watching as Sherlock moved, still playing, over towards the window, looking out. She might hate it when he played at three in the morning, but she had to admit that he was very talented.

…

Amelia smiled slowly, watching as the snow drifted past the large window of the small café she was sitting in. She had always loved watching the snow fall when she had been a child and that love still continued even as an adult. Still, it seemed as if she was the only one who was enjoying the snowy weather as it was causing havoc for all the people rushing around, trying to get last minute Christmas presents, since there was only two nights left before the day.

Luckily for Amelia, she had already finished her Christmas shopping the week before. For John, she had bought him a new watch, since his old one had ended up meeting its untimely demise at the hands of one of Sherlock's experiments. For Mrs Hudson, a fully paid day trip to a spa and an antique Victorian tea set, knowing that it was just the sort of thing that she would like. Lestrade, a bottle of his favourite alcohol, along with a number of little recordings she had taken of amusing situations from her time living at Baker Street. Molly, she had bought a small gold locket, which only left Sherlock. He had, by far, been the most difficult out of all of them to pick for, but she had managed, and was even feeling quite proud, believing that she might just have chosen well.

She had been leaning towards buying something simple, a new scarf, perhaps, until she remembered how interested he had been when a documentary about bees had been on TV. It was the first time she had ever seen him actually watch a TV program without getting up, fiddling with his phone, or spending the entire thing shouting at the screen, and had actually sat through the entire thing without saying a word, simply watching with a look on his face that she had only seen when he was working on a case. And thus, she had decided to get him a first edition book called 'The Hive: The Story of the Honeybee and Us,' along with another book, but this time about unsolved murders from all over the world, figuring that if she had misjudged her first gift, then it would at least be a safe fall back to make up for the first one.

A few minutes past and she soon withdrew her attention back inside the café, casting her eyes around a few people who were around her, taking the time to analyse them. It was a habit that she had since she was a child, that when she grew bored in a public place she would start taking note of the people around her, but even that slowly began to lose its appeal to her after she finally deduced that the man and woman sitting at the back of the shop, were months away from filing for a divorce. She shook her head and reached inside her bag that she had placed beside her chair, grabbing her phone and checking the time, as well if she had any messages.

She had planned to meet with Molly at twelve for coffee, but she was ten minutes late, and she hadn't texted, which wasn't like her at all. Perhaps she was held up by the Christmas shoppers, after all, it probably would have taken Amelia twenty minutes to get a cab if the café wasn't just around the corner from her flat. Still, she couldn't quite shake the uneasy feeling that settled over her as she slipped the phone back into her bag.

As she did so, she felt the presence of someone approach her and heard the chair in front her scrap against the floor as it was pulled out, and the sound of fabric rustling as someone sat down. A smile crossed her face before she frowned, realising that something had been off about the way the person had sat down, the sound of the fabric was off too, and her eyes snapped up to look, only to find the person she least expected nor wanted to come across.

"Hello, Amy," James grinned across at her, leaning casually back in his chair as if he did something like this every day.

Amelia's mouth fell open in shock and horror, her eyes widening as she stared at him, "What…" she trailed off, swallowing thickly, her eyes flickering over towards the door as she grabbed her handbag under the table, ready to bolt, "What the hell are you doing here?" she finally managed to get out, her voice sounding a little more shaky then she would have liked.

"Well, its Christmas time and they do say it's a time for family," he replied in a sing song tone, shrugging, "Or so I've been told".

"Great," she continued to stare at him, "So send me a Christmas card…preferably without a bomb attached, though".

"Nah," he shook his head, "It's been a while since we last saw each other," he remarked casually, his dark eyes flickering up to meet hers, smirking, "How are John and Sherlock? Ooh, do you want to hear my nickname for Sherlock?" he asked, his eyes glittering wickedly.

Amelia frowned, but tightened her grip on the strap of her bag under the table, "Why are you here, James?" she asked again, this time her voice stronger now that she was over the shock, "And…" her eyes widened with worry and fear, "…what did you do to Molly?" she demanded, "You knew I would be here, meeting her, which is why she's not here yet. _What did you_ _do_?"

James sighed heavily, as if she was boring him and rolled his eyes, "She's fine…for now," he informed her, a smirk crossing his face again, "Of course, that's all up to you that she remains that way".

She narrowed her eyes at the threat, "And what do you mean exactly by that?"

He leaned towards her across the table, "I have a proposition for you".

"What have you done with Molly?"

"Still on about that?" he rolled his eyes again, "If I knew you would be this worried about her I would have just had her killed before even walking in here".

"James…" Amelia began angrily.

"Fine, fine, fine!" he cut across her, obviously growing annoyed, which was never a good sign, "You know, you sound just like Dad when you talk like that," he commented, making a childish face of disgust, "Little Miss Hooper is simply distracted," he told her, sounding even more bored then he had before.

"And by distracted…?"

"I didn't come here to talk about your little pet, Amelia," James cut across her again, his tone sharp and with a note of anger rippling through it. Amelia immediately closed her mouth, watching him intently and carefully, knowing better than anyone just how quickly his mood could shift, and they were certainly entering into dangerous water. For a long moment they simply looked at each other before he broke into mad laughter, "Mummy wouldn't like us to fight, now, would she?" he grinned, looking completely unhinged.

Amelia fixed a sarcastic smile to her face, "Well, I doubt she would have been very surprised," she remarked dryly, "We used to be at each other's throats as children, if I remember," she cast him a dark look, "Sometimes a little to literal for my tastes".

He shot her another unhinged smile, "If it makes you feel any better, dear sister, I never really meant to kill you," he replied, not in the slightest bit making her feel comforted.

"Gee, that makes me feel so loved," she rolled her eyes, scoffing, "It gets even better when I think about the fact you once hired a hit man to scare me enough that I would come back to England. Oh, and we can't forget that one time you held myself, Sherlock Holmes, and Doctor John Watson at sniper point and with a bomb strapped to John's chest," she finished, her tone light but her eyes were cold with anger.

"Collateral damage," James shrugged, not bothered in the slightest by her anger, "All the more fun for me to watch," he smirked slowly.

"Why are you playing this game with Sherlock? Of all the people in the world, why him? I mean, what did he ever do to you, James?"

"Nothing," he told her, his smirk growing, "Which is what makes it all the more fun".

Amelia sighed heavily, shaking her head wearily, "You said you had a proposition for me?" she reminded him, her voice flat, "Just tell me so that you can go and I can forget that this _lovely_ meeting ever happened".

"Now, now, you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings," he waggled a finger at her as if she was a misbehaving child.

"That's taking into consideration that you have feelings," she muttered to herself to quietly for him to hear, before fixing a pleasant smile to her face that she was sure looked more like a grimace, "This proposition you speak of…well, I can hardly contain my excitement!"

Any humour he might have shown before disappeared in a second and he turned completely serious. _Deadly_ serious, "There's going to come a time in a little while that you are going to have to do everything I say," he began, his eyes sparklingly wickedly again as she frowned at him, "You'll get a text and when you do, you'll do what it says and not breath a word about it to anyone".

Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, "And you honestly think I would ever do that?" she stared at him before laughing, shaking her head as she composed herself, "Not a chance. In case you've forgotten, Sherlock's my…well, he's my friend," she frowned for a moment, thinking about how strange it felt to call him her friend before shrugging it off, "If you think that I would do something to betray his or John's trust in me again, then you're even more insane then I previously thought".

James shrugged, casting her a mockingly sad look, "Well, I suppose I ought to get my condolences ready," he commented, running a hand down the front of his Westwood suit, "But…if you're not going to play nicely…"

"Condolences?" she repeated, staring at him with a horrified expression across her face.

James smirked, "Oh, yes, dear sister. They're lives are in your hands now," he held up four fingers, "First I'll kill Molly," he lowered one of the fingers, "Next…Lestrade," another finger, "Next…Mrs Hudson, you've grown fond of her, haven't you?" he shot her another mocking look, lowering his finger, "And very last…John".

She swallowed thickly, suddenly very pale, "You still need John for whatever your end game is," she argued softly.

"My planes can be changed and tweaked if needed," he brushed her weak argument off, all the while smirking at her, "I mean, this is only if you don't want to be a good girl and play".

"So, basically, you're blackmailing me with my own friend's lives?"

"Yep".

Amelia stared at him, shaking her head in disgust, "How do you live with yourself?" she breathed and closed her eyes tightly, seeing no other choice but to make the deal with the devil in order to save her friends lives, "Fine," she finally said after a long time, reopening her eyes and looking at him, "But if you come near me, or my friends again, then I'll go the media," she warned him, very serious, meeting his eyes, challenging him, "You want to play this twisted game with Sherlock, go ahead. I obviously can't stop you, and Sherlock's a big boy, I'm sure he'll be able to handle you better than I can, not to mention he'll have John and I to help him, but despite what you might claim, you do have a weakness, dear brother".

James raised a mocking eyebrow at her, "Oh, and what would that be?"

"Your anonymity," she replied, "You keep your face hidden, you let other's deal with everything not just because you don't like to get your hands dirty, but because there's power when you don't have a face. You can hide in plain sight and no one would ever know, which is how you have got away with everything you have done for so long, not just because you're careful, but because they don't even know who to look for," a smirk of her own crossed her face, knowing that she was entering dangerous territory, but unable to resist, "But me…well, I could destroy that entire carefully constructed anonymity of yours and show the entire world just who and what you truly are".

"And destroy your own life, too? Haven't you spent the past years trying to distance yourself from me because of your career?"

"And I would give it all up if it meant keeping my friends safe," Amelia glared at him, "I'll be labelled for the rest of my life as that lunatic's twin sister and it will be worth it," she gave him a hard, deadly calm look, "So I wouldn't push me. I've agreed, only to keep my friends safe, but if you try to go after them, I will go right back at you".

He titled her head at her, his face blank, making it hard to tell if he was angry or not, "You realise I could just kill you and have this 'threat' of yours made useless?"

"Of course you could, I've half expected you to kill me well before now, but you won't".

"Won't I?" he questioned, actually sounding amused, "You might be my sister but don't think that would ever stop me from killing you".

"And yet, I still live and breathe despite having just threated you," she smiled grimly at him, "You wanted me to come back to England, you wanted me to work with Sherlock for some reason, why would you kill me now when everything already appears to be going just the way you want it to?" she shrugged, "I won't say a word, I'll follow what the text says, for my friends lives, but that's it".

For a very long time they stared at each other, James seeming to be weighing everything that she had to say carefully before a strange smile spread across his face and he stood, "You know, perhaps you're not as weak as I thought," he commented, looking down at her, "You have a bit more bite in you then I thought, which might just be a good thing…" he trailed off, giving her a look that clearly said he knew something she didn't, and turned, heading towards the door, "Don't get to close to Sherlock, Amy, just imagine what the Christmas dinner's would be like," and with that, he opened the door and stepped out, vanishing from sight almost instantly, blending in with the crowed that was still moving outside in the chilly weather.

Amelia stared after him, her head still spinning from what had just happened as she fell back against her chair, breathing heavily as she closed her eyes. What the hell just happened? Had she seriously just threated her brother, the person her murdered a boy when he was ten just because he picked on him? And what was that last comment about, because it sounded as if he was alluding to her and Sherlock…she almost started laughing at just how absurd it was. Aside from the fact Sherlock didn't care for anyone, woman included, that way, the very idea that there would be something between them was just simply ridiculous, and she was quite certain James truly had lost his mind completely.

The door of the café opened, sending an icy cold chill to sweep into the room briefly, before the door closed, very nearly caused her to suffer from a heart attack, thinking that James had returned, but when she looked up she felt a wave of relief crash over her at the sight of Molly moving towards her, pinked faced from the cold, but otherwise completely fine.

"Molly," she grinned broadly at her, watching as her friend pulled out the chair that James had just left, giving her a slightly sheepish look.

"Sorry I'm late," she told her apologetically, "I, ah, got stuck helping this old couple who dropped their Christmas shopping".

"No, its fine," she waved her apology away, just pleased to see that James had actually kept his word, "So…Christmas Eve, Baker Street?" she raised her eyebrows at her, trying not to think about earlier.

Molly bit her lip, looking a little nervous, "Sherlock's going to be there…" she hesitated, "Maybe I shouldn't…"

"Never mind him, you're my guest, and Sherlock can keep his mouth shut for one night".

….

It was Christmas Eve and Baker Street's living room was looking very festive, with garlands and Christmas cards put up for display, even John was getting into the spirit of the holiday by wearing a Christmas jumper.

Amelia had thought about getting herself her own Christmas jumper, but decided in the end just to wear the Santa hat that Mrs Hudson had bought her, (Sherlock had got antlers, but refused wear them), much to John and Amelia's disappointment. Tonight she had decided to dress up a bit more, since it was a party, wearing a black taffeta Westwood dress with a dark green sash around her waist, tied in a bow at the front, her black suede Louboutin's, an antique ruby and diamond necklace that had been her Great Grandmothers, matching earrings, and bracelet. She had curled her hair and put it into a half-up, half-down style, red lipstick and nails, along with smoky eyeshadow.

The day had gone surprisingly well, with hardly any complaints from Sherlock, and by seven that night, most of the guests had around, save for Molly, who had texted to say that she might be a little late, and they all watched as Sherlock entertained them with 'We Wish You A Merry Christmas' on his violin at Mrs Hudson's request.

"Lovely!" the older woman clapped happily along with the rest of the room, smiling broadly as he ended the song with a flourish, sitting in Sherlock's usual chair, while Lestrade whistled from the kitchen doorway, "Sherlock, that was lovely!"

"Very nice," Amelia smiled, nodding as she clapped from her seat on the armrest of John's usual chair.

"Marvellous!" John agreed, passing Lestrade in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a cup of tea and a bottle of beer as he moved further into the room.

Sherlock gave them all a quick bow, setting Mrs Hudson, who seemed to already be starting to feel the effects of her glass of white wine she was holding, into a fit of giggles, "I wish you could have worn the antlers!" she called to him.

He gave her a small, somewhat tight smile, "Some things are best left to the imagination, Mrs Hudson," he replied.

John, who appeared to have realised that the older woman was a little tipsy, past her the cup of tea, "Mrs H," he smiled at her.

John's date, a dark haired, pretty woman, Jeanette, approached Sherlock, holding out a tray with mince pies and slices of cake on it towards him, "No thank you, Sarah," Sherlock gave her a polite smile, so far doing well behaving himself.

Amelia coughed and stood, moving towards Sherlock, noticing the woman's face fell, "That's not Sarah," she hissed at him under her breath, fixing a friendly smile to her face.

"Ah!" John hurried over to them, wrapping an arm around the Jeanette as she began to turn away, "No, no, no, no, no. He's not good with names," he tried to comfort her.

"No, no, no," Sherlock shook his head, looking thoughtful as Jeanette sat the tray down on the living room table, turning back to them, crossing her arms, "I can do this," John cringed slightly, giving Amelia a hopeless look.

"Ah, Sherlock," Amelia began, trying to distract him, "How about you tell us about one of your past cases…"

"No, Sarah was the doctor," he continued thoughtfully, obviously not having heard a word that she had said, "And then there was the one with the spots, and then the one with the nose, and then…who was after the boring teacher?" he asked, glancing at Amelia, who closed her eyes in exasperation.

Jeanette glared at him, shifting, "Nobody".

"Jeanette!" he finally got it, giving her a bright, fake smile, "Ah, process of elimination".

John awkwardly pulled the poor woman away as Amelia sighed heavily, casting her an apologetic look, "Oh, Holmes," she muttered tiredly.

"It's hardly my fault," Sherlock replied, sniffing, "John goes throw so many girlfriends".

"That doesn't mean it's okay for you to go listing them off to his current one," she scolded him lightly, rolling her eyes, "Honestly, your lucky you didn't end up getting slapped, you certainly would have died if glares could kill".

Surprisingly, instead of scoffing at her or making a sarcastic remark, he turned towards her, "She surly knows that John's had other girlfriends," he reasoned, generally sounding curious, "So why would it bother her hearing about them?"

Amelia stared at him, taken back slightly, "Well…" she frowned, thinking carefully, "I think you might be missing the point," she eventually sighed, shaking her head, "It's not that John's had other girlfriends, it's the fact that you can't even take the time to remember her name," she paused, a weary smile crossing her face, "Oh, and we can't forget that you called her 'boring'".

He narrowed his eyes at her, actually appearing to be considering what she had said when something caught his eye over towards the living room door, "Oh, dear Lord," he muttered.

"Hello, everyone," Molly's voice called through the room, causing Amelia to turn towards her, giving her a small, friendly wave of welcome as the other woman smiled shyly, carrying two bags, obviously full of presents, "Sorry, hello," John smiled at her, moving to greet her, "Er, it said on the door just to come up".

Everyone greeted her happily and cheerfully, save for Sherlock, who rolled his eyes, earning a hard glare from Amelia, "Oh, everybody's saying hullo to each other," he commented sarcastically, back to his old self, apparently, "How wonderful".

"Sherlock," Amelia said sharply, sending him a warning look.

Molly began pulling off her scarf and thick coat, staring at Sherlock rather nervously as John reached to take her coat, "Let me, er…holy Mary!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"Wow!" Lestrage's eyes widened as Molly revealed herself to be wearing a tight fitting, black dress with rhinestones attached to the neckline and straps, going well with her red lipstick.

In fact, the only two people in the room who didn't have much of a reaction were Amelia and Sherlock, Amelia because she had help her to pick out the dress only the other day, and Sherlock because…well, he was Sherlock.

Molly shifted a little, rubbing her bare arms awkwardly, glancing around the room as John put her coat and scarf away, "Having Christmas drinkies, then?"

Sherlock moved over to the living room table and sat down in front of John's open laptop, "No stopping them, apparently," he remarked, ignoring the way Molly was still staring at him.

"It's the one day of the year where the boys have to be nice to me," Mrs Hudson told her, her wine glass back in her hand, Amelia noted with a hint of amusement, "So it's almost worth it!" she smiled.

Molly giggled nervously, her eyes still fixed on Sherlock, who was typing something on John's laptop. Amelia shook her head, feeling a little grateful that while he was on the computer, he at least wasn't humiliating someone else as John grabbed a chair from the kitchen, sitting it down for Molly, "Have a seat," he smiled over at her.

"John?" Sherlock called to him.

"Hmm?" he hummed, stepping over to look over his shoulder at the screen.

Amelia, looking curious, moved over to see for herself to see that John's blog was on the screen.

"The counter on your blog: still says one thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five".

"Ooh, no!" John gave him a mockingly angry look, lightly hitting the table top, "Christmas is cancelled!"

"How awful," Amelia laughed, shaking her head.

Sherlock ignored them, scowling as he pointed at the side bar were a picture of himself was with the deerstalker on, "And you're got a photograph of me wearing that hat!" he complained.

John shrugged, "People like the hat".

"No they don't," he scoffed before pausing as John walked away, shaking his head, "_What_ people?"

"Stop complaining, Sherlock," Amelia sighed, shaking her head, "There's not many people who could wear a hat like that one and still look handsome," she remarked and walked over to the sofa, taking a seat, ignoring the feeling of Sherlock's eyes following her.

Molly turned to Mrs Hudson, "How's the hip?" she asked, sounding slightly concerned.

"Ooh, it's atrocious, but thanks for asking," Mrs Hudson replied, actually sounding a little cheerful. That wine was really working wonders for her.

She nodded, "I've seen much worse, but then I do post-mortems," everyone fell silent, glancing awkwardly at her, "Oh, God!" she gasped, "Sorry…"

"Don't make jokes, Molly," Sherlock told her, looking up from the computer for a moment.

"No," she nodded, looking back to Mrs Hudson, her voice soft, "Sorry," Lestrage past her a glass of red wine, "Thank you," she nodded to him, "I wasn't expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas".

"That's first thing in the morning, me and the wife," Lestrade replied, smiling, "We're back together. It's all sorted".

"No," Sherlock said without even looking up, "She's sleeping with a P.E teacher".

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose as Lestrade's smile became quite fixed, shaking her head as Molly turned to her, "So, how did everything go with that guy?" she questioned, Amelia winced slightly, but forced herself to smile as everyone looked at her, Sherlock included, "Did you decided if you're going to go out with him?"

"What 'guy?'" Sherlock's eyes narrowed his eyes at Amelia, who shifted a little.

Molly's eyes widened, "Oh, you didn't tell them?" she bit her lip.

"Ah…not really, no," Amelia muttered before giving her a smile, "It's fine, though, Molly," she looked around at the others, "It was just this man gave me his number the other day, and he seemed nice, enough," she shrugged.

"You don't date," Sherlock stated, still eying her.

"Yeah, well, perhaps it's time I do".

Molly turned to John, who was sitting on the arm of his chair, Janette sitting in the actual chair as Sherlock focused back on the computer, "And John," she smiled at him, "I hear you're off to your sister's, is that right?"

"Yeah," John nodded.

"Sherlock was complaining," he glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows, "…saying," she corrected herself.

"First time ever, she's cleaned up her act," John cut in, toasting his beer bottle as he spoke, "She's off the booze".

"Nope," Sherlock remarked, popping the 'P'.

John sighed, "Shut up, Sherlock".

"I see you've got a new boyfriend, Molly, and you're serious about him," Sherlock looked over to her, his mouth twitching briefly into a fake smile.

"Sorry, what?" Molly blinked as Amelia frowned, glancing in-between Sherlock and Molly.

"What are you going on about, Holmes?" Amelia eyed him.

"In fact, you're seeing him this very night and giving him a gift".

"Take a day off," John muttered quietly, sounding highly exasperated.

Lestrade moved over to Sherlock and placed a glass beside him, "Shut up and have a drink," he told him.

"Oh, come on," Sherlock continued, rolling his eyes at them all, looking as if he was starting to enjoy himself, "Surely you've all seen the present at the top of the bag, perfectly wrapped with a bow," Amelia glanced over at the bag, sighing heavily as she realised just who that present was meant for, "All the others are slapdash at best," he stood and walked closer to her, looking down at the rest of the presents in the bags, "It's for someone special, then," he commented, grabbing the well wrapped, red present, "The shade of red echoes her lipstick, either an unconscious association or one that she's deliberately trying to enough. Either way, Miss Hooper has lurrrve on her mind," he smirked as Molly shifted uncomfortably, and Amelia stood, walking over to her, her arms crossed across her chest, glaring at Sherlock, who continued, "The fact that she's serious about him is clear from the fact she's giving him a gift at all".

"Sherlock, stop it," Amelia cut in sternly, a touch of anger seeping into her voice.

"That would suggest long-term hopes, however forlorn," he continued, ignoring Amelia, "And that she's seeing him tonight is evident from her make-up and what she's wearing," he glanced smugly over at John and Jeanette, turning the gift's tag over that was attached to the present, labelling who it was for, "Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…" he trailed off suddenly as he looked down at the label, looking shocked.

It was for him.

Molly took a sharp intake of breath, "You always say such horrible things," she said to him, struggling to hold back tears, "Every time," she shook her head, her voice soft with emotion, "Always. _Always_…"

Sherlock swallowed, looking truly guilty for what he had done as he moved to turn away before thinking better of it, and turning back to her, "I am sorry," he told her sincerely, "Forgive me," John and Amelia looked at him, startled that he had actually apologised as he stepped closer to Molly, "Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper," he said softly, lightly kissing her cheek before pulling back.

Molly, still looking surprised, began to smile when…the orgasmic moan echoed through the room, causing her to gasp in alarm and shock, "No!" she called quickly, gesturing to herself, "That wasn't…I…I didn't…"

"No, it was me," Sherlock replied.

Lestrade did a double take, "My God, really?" he exclaimed, staring at him with wide eyes as Amelia laughed quietly.

"What?" Molly gaped.

He rolled his eyes at them, "My _phone_," he reached inside his pocket, pulling out the device.

John narrowed his eyes at him, "Fifty-seven?"

Amelia nodded slowly, "Yes, that's about right," she agreed.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock glanced over at them, turning his back on them all as he sat Molly's present beside the still open laptop.

"Fifty-seven of those texts, the ones I've heard," John clarified, eyeing him.

He checked his phone and turned to look at the mantelpiece, "Thrilling that you've been counting," he commented sarcastically, walking over to the fireplace, and picking up a blood red present that was sitting there, frowning down at it, "'Scuse me," he said to them, heading towards the kitchen, holding the present.

John and Amelia frowned, exchanging a look, "What…what's up, Sherlock?" they called after him, growing worried.

"I said excuse me," he spoke over his shoulder, still walking.

"Do you ever reply?" John asked, but he simply ignored him, the sound of his bedroom door opening and closing sounded a moment later.

After a moment past, John stood and walked down the hall, just as Molly's phone rang and she quickly put her wine glass down, hurrying over to where John had hung her coat, pulling her phone out and raising it to her ear, "Hello?"

Amelia cast a look down the hall and walked over to her, waiting for her to finish the call, raising her eyebrows, "You have to go into work?" she asked her.

"Ah, yeah," she nodded, slipping the phone back inside the pocket and pulling the scarf and coat on, "I'm sorry about just leaving like this".

"It's fine, I'm pretty sure most of the party is already over," Amelia shrugged, casting a glance over her shoulder to see that John still hadn't returned, and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade were talking politely, while Jeanette stared at the flames in the fireplace. She turned back to her, "Merry Christmas, Molly," she smiled.

Molly smiled back at her, "Merry Christmas," calling into the room, "Night all!"

They all chorused back there goodnights as John returned, an odd look on his face. Amelia immediately walked over to him, "What's going on?" she questioned, keeping her voice low so that the other's wouldn't hear, casting a concerned look down towards Sherlock's room, "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," John sighed heavily, shaking his head, "I couldn't hear much, but from what I did…" he took a deep breath, "It looks like Irene Adler's dead".

"What?" she exclaimed, only just keeping her voice down, her eyes wide with shock.

"Yeah," he nodded grimly, "I think he was talking to Mycroft on the phone, and I heard him say it".

She opened and closed her mouth, still shocked, when Lestrade stood and announced that he was leaving too, wishing them all a good night, that Amelia and John only half heard as he left, "Oh, this really isn't going to be good, is it?" she finally sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

John began to open his mouth, but Sherlock's door suddenly opened and he strolled out, wearing his coat and scarf, completely ignoring them as he headed down stairs and out the door before they could even call after him. Amelia hurried over to the window, pulling the curtain back as she looked down to see a black car pull up on the curb and Sherlock climbed in, before driving off down the street.

"He's gone," she called back to the others as John filled Mrs Hudson and Jeanette in to what was going on.

John nodded grimly, casting a look around the flat, "We had better check to make sure this place is clean," he remarked, running a hand tiredly down his face, "Just to be sure".

Clean, as in _clean for drugs_.

Amelia sighed again, casting a grim look around the flat herself, before nodding in agreement. She was positive that Sherlock was indeed clean, and she doubted that he actually had anything stashed away, but she agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry. Mrs Hudson took Sherlock's bedroom, Amelia the kitchen and bathroom, and John the living room and even his own bedroom, just too be careful.

Twenty minutes of searching and Amelia hadn't found a single thing as she stepped back into the living room, just as John's phone rang and he answered it, putting it on speaker, "He's on his way," Mycroft's voice came over, "Have you found anything?"

"No," John replied as Amelia shook her head, "Did he take the cigarette?"

"Yes".

"Shit," he sighed, looking over to Mrs Hudson as she joined them, "He's coming," he told the older woman, "Ten minutes".

"There's nothing in the bedroom," Mrs Hudson informed them, shaking her head, but still looked anxious.

"Looks like he's clean," he turned back to the phone, "We've tried all the usual places. Are you sure tonight's danger night?" he asked.

"No, but then I never am," Mycroft answered grimly, "You and Amelia have to stay with him".

"I've got plans".

There was a short pause, "_No_," he said firmly.

"Mycroft…" he tried, but the call ended. He exhaled heavily, looking frustrated as he slipped the phone back in his pocket, casting a glance over to Jeanette, who was sitting on the sofa, watching him.

"It's fine, John," Amelia whispered to him, giving him a small smile, "Go with her, I'll stay with Sherlock," he opened his mouth, looking ready to argue, "Go," she said more sternly, "Because if you don't, then you'll never get another date with her again, I can promise you that".

He hesitated, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, just go," she nodded firmly, lightly pushing him.

A large, grateful smile spread across his face, "I owe you," he grinned.

"No, you really don't. Take this as me still trying to make up for everything that happened with my insane brother".

…

John and Jeanette eventually left and Mrs Hudson went downstairs, heading to bed while Amelia set to work making a cup of tea, quickly ducking back to her own flat to grab Sherlock's present, since she hadn't found the time to give it to him throughout the evening.

She had just finished taking the teabags out of the cups when the door downstairs slammed shut, the sound of footsteps followed closely on the stairs, before Sherlock entered the room. He paused in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he took the room in.

"Hello, Sherlock," Amelia greeted calmly, picking up both cups and holding one out to him, "Cup of tea?"

He glanced at her before walking past and off towards his bedroom, "Hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time," he remarked over his shoulder.

She sighed, rolling her eyes slightly and followed after him, not in the slightest bit bothered when he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, simply throwing the door open herself and stepping in, "Why do you have a sock index?" she asked, generally curious, ignoring the glare he was giving her, "I mean, what's the point?"

"Go away, Amelia".

She held out the cup of tea again, "Tea?" when he didn't take it, she shook her head and placed the cup on his bedside table and took a seat on the edge of his bed.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed dangerously, "I told you to get out".

"Yes, you did," she agreed, nodding as she crossed her legs casually, "But as a concerned friend, I've chosen to make sure that you are okay before leaving you to mope in here by yourself".

"Is that what we are?" he scoffed at her, "_Friends_?"

"I would like to think that we're developing a friendship. Granted, we might not always get along, but I do think that we make rather a good team, you and I, when the need calls for it".

"Fine, if you want to be _friends_, then get out and leave me alone".

Amelia sighed heavily, realising that it was time to take her leave, and stood, moving towards the door before she paused, glancing back at him, "I almost forgot," she stepped back over to the bed, placing the papered green and red striped present on his bed, heading back towards the door, "Merry Christmas, Holmes".

She very nearly missed it as she was closing the door behind her, but she was sure she heard him mutter softly from within the room, "Merry Christmas, Amelia".

_**I've been wanting to write this chapter for so long now, but I only just managed to work out exactly what Sherlock's present should be a few days ago when I remembered that in the books, he had liked bees, so I found it to be a good gift for him, rather than just a scarf or something like that. So, what do we think about that little meeting with James and Amelia, I'm just going to say that it will play a big role at the end of this season. I hope that James was at least a little in character, he's such a tricky character to write for, almost as hard as Sherlock. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_

_**Guest reviews:**_

_**Guest:**__** Well, I will certainly be trying to throw little hints here and there, I believe that I have a hint at the end of Amelia and James's little meeting, and I've been thinking very hard about what will happen at the end of the last episode of this season between Sherlock and Amelia. I have a rough idea of what might happen, but I'm still not certain. As I said before, Sherlock's such a hard character to write in a romantic context, that it's going to take a little while before it feels…natural, I guess, for him and Amelia to have a relationship. Thanks for the review :)**_


	4. Chapter 4 Scandal in Belgravia, Part 4

_**Scandal in Belgravia, Part 4.**_

A week had almost past since Christmas and it was New Year's Eve, but things at Baker Street were hardly what you would call festive. Ever since Sherlock had received the news that Irene Adler had been killed, he had sunk into what Amelia could only describe as an almost depressive state. He hardly talked, unless it was to yell at the TV for something, he barely ate, and if his sleeping habits before had been bad, they were near non-existent now, seeing as he spent most of his days and nights playing his violin in the living room.

It was slowly driving them all mad, but they simply hadn't had the heart to even shout at him. The whole thing was quite unsettling, really, and Amelia was very close to calling Mycroft in to try helping, but knowing there relationship, she was concerned it would just cause more harm than good. Besides, she really didn't want to face Sherlock's reaction if she did.

Amelia sighed heavily as she leaned against the doorframe between the kitchen, where Mrs Hudson was busy bustling around, and the living room, watching as Sherlock stood in front of one of the windows, his back to the room as he played a mournful song on his violin. John entered the room from the living room door and paused, eyeing Sherlock before glancing around to her. She shrugged and he took a deep breath, looking resigned.

Slowly, he moved further into the room, just as Mrs Hudson walked across to the table and picked up Sherlock's still full plate. She held it up for John to see, and he sighed, giving her a small nod as he grabbed his jacket from off the back of the middle chair, pulling it on.

Sherlock paused in his playing and scribbled something down on a piece of sheet music he had before him.

"Lovely music, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson remarked as she began heading back to the kitchen, carrying his untouched plate "Haven't heard that one before".

John cleared his throat, "You composing?" he asked.

"Helps me to think," Sherlock replied, sitting the pencil back down, and going back to playing the same tune.

Amelia hesitated, glancing at John, "And…ah, what are you thinking about exactly?" she questioned, looking at his back.

He suddenly spun around, his dressing gown billowing around him, and sat his violin down on his armchair. He quickly pointed to John's open laptop, "The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five," he told them, talking fast as he glanced at John.

"Yeah, it's faulty," John nodded, moving around to see for himself, "Can't seem to fix it".

He reached inside his dressing gown, looking very determined, "Faulty," he pulled Irene's phone from his pocket and began typing something onto it, "…or you've been hacked and it's a message".

"Hmm?"

Amelia eyed him curiously, hoping that whatever he was typing would actually work…when the phone beeped, and Sherlock looked up, expressionless. He slipped the phone shut and back into his pocket, "Just faulty," he muttered, turning around and grabbing his violin.

She sighed heavily, fighting back against the urge to groan. Just for a second, Sherlock had actually seemed like himself again, and then that spark was gone again. She wished that she could do something to actually help, but she knew that any attempts to do so on her part would simply be meet with annoyance, and besides, she had no idea where to even begin trying to work out the password to Irene's phone, just a very cryptic remark from Irene weeks ago.

"Right," John commented, just as Sherlock began playing the same tune again, his back to them once more, "Right," he glanced across to Amelia, "Well, Amelia and I are going out for a bit," he waited for Sherlock to respond, but he simply continued to play, and John sighed again. He turned and headed for the kitchen, "You ready?" he asked the brunette.

"I'll just grab my coat," Amelia said. She waited until he had moved further into the kitchen before stepping over to Sherlock, "Do you want me to get you anything?" she asked him, raising her voice slightly to be heard over his playing, "Coffee? I don't know…some sort of pastry?"

"No, thank you," Sherlock answered, his voice sounding slightly stiff, and she blinked at him in surprise. Had he really just been polite? Well, that was certainly unexpected.

She nodded slowly, "Right, then," she turned and headed back to her own flat.

She quickly hurried back into her room and grabbed her dark grey coat off her bed, along with a red scarf, and handbag. Seeing as it was still quite icy outside, despite the snow having melted, she had decided to wear red skinny jeans, a dark blue jumper with a leather collar, and dark blue, skyscraper Mary-Jane shoes. She had put her hair up in a ponytail, simple lip-gloss, natural French nails, eyeliner, and in her ears she had studded rose shaped, gold earrings.

She pulled the coat on, wrapping the scarf around her neck, and hurried back though her flat to next door. She walked down the stairs and opened the front door, feeling grateful for the scarf as an icy breeze meet her as she stepped out. She looked around for a moment, not seeing John, when she noticed him talking to a well-dressed, brunette woman.

"Mrs Wilson?" the woman looked over to her, smiling at her as John stared at the woman, appearing to be quite distracted by her pretty face.

"Yes…" Amelia confirmed, eyeing her carefully as she walked over to join them. Her first thought that she must have been one of Mycroft's staff, but she had never seen her before, and judging from the smug of dirt on the side of her heeled shoe, she hadn't come from an office, "Who are you?" she questioned.

The woman simply continued to smile, stepping closer to John, "So, any plans for New Year tonight?" she raised her eyebrows.

John laughed, his eyes running over to the woman as Amelia shot him an amused look, "Er…nothing fixed," he informed her, "Nothing I couldn't…heartlessly abandon," he zipped his jacket up, "You have any ideas?'

The woman glanced at something behind them, towards the road, "One".

They followed her gaze and John sighed in exasperation as a black car pulled up beside them, "You know, Mycroft could just phone me," he complained, moving towards the car, "If he didn't have this bloody stupid power complex".

As John opened the back door of the car and climbed in, Amelia crossed her arms across her chest, frowning at the woman, "Who do you work for?" she demanded, lowering her voice so not to alarm John, should he hear.

"Believe me, Miss Wilson, you are going to want to see for yourself," the woman responded, giving her a mysterious smile.

"Well, that makes me so relaxed," she rolled her eyes, scoffing slightly, "I'll just hop into a strange car and let you take me to meet someone potently dangerous, just because I may or may not want to see for myself".

"Would you rather leave John alone?"

Amelia closed her eyes briefly, very frustrated, but did have to admit that she did feel a little curious, "Alright, fine," she muttered, walking over to the door, and pulled it open, climbing inside. She just dearly hoped she hadn't made a very big mistake.

…

The car drove through London until it came to the Battersea Power Station, and into the building itself before coming to a stop. Amelia opened the door and stepped out into the large, abandoned complex, John following behind her, while the woman climbed out the other side. They paused, looking around the space.

"This way," the woman called to them, turning and walking away from the car. They quickly hurried after her and she led them through the complex, and upstairs to the top level of the building.

John frowned slightly as they walked along a small bridged area, "Couldn't we just go to a café?" he asked after a long time spent in silence as the woman walked ahead of them, fiddling with her phone, "Sherlock doesn't follow us everywhere".

"Well, he's hardly talk to anyone at the moment," Amelia remarked, glancing at him, "Let alone following them".

The woman came to a stop as they reached the end of a bridge, looking back to them, "Through there," she gestured through to a doorway that appeared to lead off further into the complex.

John gave her a look as they moved through to the door, quickly finding themselves in a long corridor with old, dust covered controls of the power station running along the wall. They moved around the wall and into a large, dimly lit, empty room.

"He's writing sad music," he announced to the room as Amelia frowned, still trying to work out just who they were meeting, "Doesn't eat, barely talks…only to correct the television," they moved further into the room when a figure of a woman stepped out from the other end of the room, half hidden in the shadows, "I would say he's heartbroken but…er…well, he's Sherlock," he continued, "He does that anyway…" he trailed off suddenly, realising who the woman was.

Amelia gasped quietly, her eye widening in shock as Irene Adler, looking very much alive and well, strolled into full view, dressed in black.

"Hello, Doctor Watson," Irene greeted calmly, coming to a stop, putting quite a bit of distance between herself and them, "Amelia".

For a long moment, all they could do was stare at her in shock, before Amelia finally managed to find her voice, "How could you just…" she breathed, shaking her head, growing angry as she thought about how upset Sherlock had been, "Tell Sherlock you're alive," she practically ordered her.

Irene shook her head, "He'd come after me".

"I'll come after you if you don't," John threatened seriously.

"Mmm, I believe you," she commented, eyeing them, looking slightly amused as she glanced at Amelia, "And I bet you would be right there with him, too".

"You had better believe it," Amelia crossed her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes angrily.

"You were _dead _on a slab!" John exclaimed, shaking his head, "It was defiantly you".

"DNA tests are only as good as the records you keep," Irene replied with a small smirk.

"And I bet you know the record-keeper".

She shrugged, still smirking, "I know what he likes, and I needed to disappear," she answered, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Then why are you here?" Amelia asked, frowning at her before she gasped in realisation, "Oh, of course," she breathed, her eyes snapping back to her, a small smile spreading across her face, "Your phone. Made a mistake, didn't you, sending that phone to Sherlock?"

She sighed, looking slightly annoyed, "And now I need your help".

"No," John shook his head almost at once.

"It's for his own safety".

"Yeah, and so is this," Amelia gave her a cold look, "Just tell him you're alive, it's the least you could do".

"I _can't_".

"Fine," John snapped, breathing heavily, trying to restrain his rising temper as he pointed angrily at Irene, "We'll tell him, and we still won't help you," he and Amelia turned, beginning to walk back the way they had entered.

"What do I say?" Irene called after them.

He whirled around furiously as Amelia paused, looking back to her, "What do you _normally_ say?" he demanded, taking a couple of steps back as Irene looked slightly surprised by his anger, "You've texted him a _lot_".

She reached inside her coat and pulled out another phone, holding it in her gloved hand, "Just the usual stuff".

"There is no 'usual' in this case".

Irene looked down at her phone, apparently looking at her messages, "'Good morning,'" she began to read to them, "'I like your funny hat'. 'I'm sad tonight. Let's have dinner…'" John and Amelia exchanged a look, John seeming far more startled then Amelia, "…'you looked sexy on Crimewatch. Let's have dinner.' 'I'm not hungry, let's have dinner,'" she smirked as she looked back up to them.

"You actually flirted with Sherlock?" Amelia stared at her, looking almost stunned by the discovery, seeing as Sherlock had most certainly never seemed to take any interest in romance, at least, not around her.

"_At_ him," she corrected, shaking her head, "He never replies".

John frowned at her, "No, Sherlock always replies to _everything_," he informed her, "He's Mr Punchline," he rolled his eyes slightly, "He will outlive God trying to have the last word".

The corner of Irene's mouth twitched, "Does that make me special?"

"This is Sherlock we're talking about," Amelia remarked, shrugging, "Who knows what half the things he does actually mean?"

Irene looked back to her phone, "Are you jealous?" she shot both John and Amelia a raised eyebrows look.

Amelia opened her mouth to reply, when she paused. Was she jealous? No, of course not, since she had no reason to feel jealous in the first place. She and Sherlock were simply friends, nothing else, and certainly nothing romantic, and yet…why couldn't she bring herself to reply?

John gave Irene an exasperated look, "We're not a couple".

"Yes, you are," Irene gave him an amused look before refocusing on her phone, typing something, "There…" she turned the phone around, despite the distance between them making it impossible for them to even read what was on the screen, "'I'm not dead. Let's have dinner,'" she read aloud for them, and turned the phone around, pressing a button.

John looked away from her, shaking his head, "Who…who the hell knows about Sherlock Holmes," he began quietly, "But, for the record, if anyone out there still cares…" he looked back to Irene, "…I'm not actually gay".

"Well, I _am_," she replied, giving him a small smile, "Look at us both".

John laughed softly, when, suddenly, an orgasmic moan sounded from a short distance away. Amelia's eyes winded, realising who that could only mean as she and John quickly began to walk in the direction that the sound had come from, but Irene held out her hand, stopping them.

Slowly, she looked back to them, "I don't think so, do you?"

"Bloody hell," Amelia groaned, closing her eyes.

…

The moment that the black car that had taken John and Amelia to their meeting with Irene had pulled up on the curb outside Baker Street, they threw off their seatbelts, and opened the doors. They quickly got out of the car and it drove off as they walked towards the front door, mentally preparing themselves for whatever state they might find Sherlock in, when John paused in his attempt to find his key's in his jacket, catching sight of a hand written note attached to the door, beneath the knocker:

_Crime in progress_. _Please disturb_.

"That's Sherlock's hand writing," Amelia remarked as frowned at the note, before running her eyes down the rest of the door, "And…" she trailed off, swallowing slightly worriedly.

"What?" John's head snapped around to look at her.

She sighed and moved closer to the door, pointing to where a couple of very fine paint chips were missing along the edge of the door, and a few scratches on the lock, "See these?" she glanced back to him to see him scrunching his eyes up to try and see the marks himself, "They've been made recently by someone breaking into the flat," his eyes winded in mild alarm, "I would say that whoever broke in, they were professional, otherwise there would be more damage to the paint work".

"'They?'" he repeated.

"That's just an assumption that a professional would be working with one or more people. I mean, they would need to have someone as a look out on a busy street like this, someone actually doing the breaking in, and someone else would probably act as a decoy for anyone who might look".

"And you got all of that from a couple of scratches and paint chips?"

Amelia smiled slyly, "I might not be as good as Sherlock, but that doesn't mean I don't have a sharp eye for details that others miss," she replied, shrugging, "Besides, I was a detective before. Anyway, come on," she grabbed her bag, quickly grabbing her own copy of the key, and unlocked the door.

As they entered the entrance hall and there was even more evidence to suggest that a break in had taken place, and Amelia began growing even more worried as she realised that whoever had broken in, had taken Mrs Hudson as an hostage, judging by the small tear in the wall paper along the stairs, made from the older woman's finger nails as she tried grabbing something, and the scuff marks from her shoes.

They hurried upstairs and threw the living room door open. The first thing they noticed was the same American man who had almost killed them all when they had first meet Irene, strapped to a chair in front of the fireplace, a gag over his mouth, and looking worse for wear with a bloody nose that had dripped down his chin.

"What's going on?" John frowned, eyeing the man as they entered the room, before looking around to see Mrs Hudson sitting on the sofa, looking tearful with her arms wrapped around herself, and Sherlock, who was sitting on an armchair just off to the side of the room, aiming a gun at the man, and holding his phone to his ear, "Jeez," he breathed, looking back to the gaged man, "What the hell is happening?"

"Mrs Hudson's been attacked by an American," Sherlock answered calmly, his eyes fixed across on the man, "I'm restoring balance to the Universe".

Amelia glanced at Sherlock, almost tempted to make a comment about how sweet that had sounded, but decided that it would probably be better not to.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, my God," John immediately stepped around to Mrs Hudson, sitting beside her, and wrapping a comforting arm around her as Amelia moved around to her other side, looking concerned, "Are you all right?" he shot a glare over to the man, "Jesus, what have they done to you?"

Mrs Hudson burst into tears and covered her face, "Oh, I'm just being so silly," she sobbed, shaking her head.

He pulled her close, "No, no".

Sherlock stood, still holding the phone to his ear, and pointing the gun at the man, "Downstairs," he glanced over to John and Amelia, "Take her downstairs and look after her," his eyes came to rest on Amelia, "Amelia, make her some tea".

John got up and gently began helping the older woman to her feet, "All right, it's all right," he tried soothing her, guiding her towards the landing door, "I'll have a look at that…" he nodded to a couple of bruises on her wrists.

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" she tearfully insisted, leaving the room.

He paused in the doorway, looking back to Sherlock, "Are you gonna tell us what's going on?" he questioned.

"I expect so," he glanced back to him, "Now go".

John threw the man one last glare, before following after Mrs Hudson, though, Amelia noted with some amusement the smirk that settled on his face, knowing what was to come. As he left, she stood and moved closer to Sherlock, raising her eyebrows.

"I take it there will be only four cups for tea?" she smiled innocently across to the gaged man, her tone light, but anyone who knew her could tell that she was hiding a cold edge to her voice. Sherlock smirked slyly and glanced at her, and the man squirmed slightly nervously in his chair. Her smile widened, "Well, I had better get the kettle on, then," she remarked, turning on her heel, and heading back down stairs.

She made her way into Mrs Hudson's flat and through to her kitchen, giving her a small, comforting smile where she and John stood before the kitchen sink, John carefully tending to a small cut on her cheek with a piece of cotton wool. She moved around to the side of the kitchen, grabbing the kettle, and gave it a small shake to check that it had enough water.

Mrs Hudson winced, flinching slightly, "Ooh, it stings," she murmured.

John nodded apologetically and continued to lightly dab the cut, when, suddenly, a dark shape plummeted past the kitchen window and the sound of something heavy crashing onto something outside echoed through the room, making them all turn to look.

"Ooh," the older woman remarked worriedly, looking back to John, "That was right on my bins".

Outside, a painful groan sounded.

Amelia glanced towards the window before shrugging, "Oh, well," she said brightly, not seeming surprised at all, "Mrs Hudson, where do you keep your tea cups?"

….

It was evening by the time Lestrade showed up with an ambulance to take the very badly battered American away, having made the little trip plummeting down on Mrs Hudson's bins so many times that they had all lost count. Amelia and John stayed in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, sitting at her kitchen table with tea and biscuits as the older woman sat across from them, holding a hand to her head, still looking quite shaken.

The back door opened and Sherlock moved a beaded curtain aside as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and wiped his shoes on the doormat.

"She'll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight," John told him, looking at Mrs Hudson worriedly, "We need to look after her".

"No," Mrs Hudson shook her head, sounding tearful.

"Of course, but she's fine," Sherlock shrugged.

"No, she's not," John frowned at him, "Look at her," Amelia eyed Sherlock curiously, watching as he opened the fridge and looked inside, "She's got to take some time away from Baker Street," he continued firmly, "She can go and stay with her sister," he looked across the Mrs Hudson, "Doctor's orders".

"Yes, I think that would be a good idea," Amelia nodded, giving the older woman a smile, "You deserve to take some time away from here, from all of this".

Sherlock lightly kicked the fridge door closed and turned around with a mince pie, giving Amelia and John a frown, "Don't be absurd," he took a bite of the mince pie, chewing.

"She's in shock, for God's sake, and all over some bloody stupid camera phone!" John exclaimed, looking slightly annoyed as he sat back in his chair, glancing at Sherlock, "Where is it, anyway?"

He dabbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb, "Safest place I know," he looked over to Mrs Hudson.

Mrs Hudson smiled and reached down her top, pulling the phone out of her bra, handing it to Sherlock, much to Amelia and John's surprise, "You left it in the pocket of your second-best dressing gown, you clot," she rolled her eyes at him, laughing briefly, "I managed to sneak it out when they thought I was having a cry".

He tossed the phone in the air before slipping it in his coat pocket, "Thank you," he looked across to John and Amelia with a mock scolding look, "Shame on you, John Watson and Amelia Wilson".

"_Excuse me_?" Amelia blinked, staring at him, still trying to get over the fact that Mrs Hudson had been acting the entire time.

"Shame on me?" John gaped at him.

"Mrs Hudson leave Baker Street?" he moved around to wrap a protective arm around the older woman's shoulders, pulling her closer, "England would _fall_," he finished sternly.

Mrs Hudson laughed and covered his hand on her shoulder with her own. Amelia and John smiled at them fondly.

…

Later that evening, the boys and Amelia returned to the flat upstairs. John stepped into the kitchen and poured himself a drink before entering the living room, just as Sherlock began pulling his coat off, draping it over one of the living room table chairs, and Amelia flopped down on the sofa, unbuckling her heels, and slipping them off with a relieved sigh.

"Where is it now?" John asked Sherlock as he stepped over to his own chair by the fire.

"Where no-one will look," Sherlock responded, walking over to the window, and picking his violin up, turning his back to face them.

"Whatever's on that phone is more than just pictures".

"Yes, it is," he agreed, fiddling with his violin as John watched him for a long moment.

Amelia sighed, "So…ah, Irene's alive," she began carefully, eyeing Sherlock's back, "How are you dealing with that?"

Off in the distance outside, Big Ben tolled the New Year, and Sherlock inhaled sharply, "Happy New Year, John, Amelia," he remarked, still not looking back to them.

"Do you think you'll be seeing her again?" John questioned quickly.

Sherlock finally turned around and grabbed his bow, flipping it in the air before catching it once more, and began playing 'Auld Lang Syne,' giving John and Amelia a pointed look. John nodded and took his seat, and Amelia sighed, leaning back against the sofa, listening as the tune continued.

…

Months went by and still, Sherlock came no closer to working out how to access Irene's phone, having spent several days at St. Barts, X-raying it, only to find that it had been rigged to destroy itself at any attempt to tamper with the device. And now with only two attempts to get the password right, since he had tried to use the flats address, only for it to fail, things had slowed slightly on the case.

Amelia was standing by her kitchen counter, stirring the contents of her tea cup, when a knock sounded on the joined door to her flat, connecting to the boy's landing, "Come in!" she called, already knowing that it could only be John, since Sherlock wouldn't have bothered to knock.

The door opened and John poked his head around the edge of the door, a small frown on his face.

"I thought you and Sherlock went shopping?" she remarked, grabbing the spoon from the cup, and dropping it into the sink with a loud clatter, before moving back over to the bench to grab her tea cup, "I didn't expect you two to be back so soon…" she slowly trailed off, noticing the frown on his face, "What's wrong?"

"We've got a client," John informed her, giving her a pointed look, "_In Sherlock's bed_".

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes briefly, "Let me guess…Irene Adler?"

_**I apologise for the long wait. I've been busy with my Doctor Who story, but hopefully now I'll be able to find more time to focus on this. So, Amelia is finally starting to develop small, inklings of feelings for Sherlock, though, they are very, very small at this point. Amelia's outfit will be on my profile (hopefully, the link will actually work). Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_

_**Guest reviews:**_

_**Guest: **__**I apologise for the wait. Well, he is Sherlock, he's not the most warm and cuddly person, but we'll see him start to try and be a bit nicer to Amelia. I think that he probably reacted without really thinking about it, kind of like an automatic response, and regrated it slightly after he did it. Thanks for the review :)**_


	5. Chapter 5 A Scandal in Belgravia, part 5

_**A Scandal in Belgravia, part 5**_

Amelia frowned slightly as she sat at the living room table of John and Sherlock's flat, watching Irene Adler, who sat across the room on Sherlock's chair, wearing one of his dressing gowns with her hair down and still damp from having taken a shower. John sat on the other side of the table from Amelia, eyeing Irene with a similar expression, while Sherlock simply looked calmly across to the woman from his seat positioned in the middle of the room.

Amelia was still undecided on just how she felt about Irene turning up, and in Sherlock's bed, no less. She had long since resigned herself to the startling knowledge that her feelings towards Irene might be partly to do with jealousy, not that she would ever admit it, nor did she understand why she was feeling jealous about anything to do with Sherlock in the first place. The two of them spent more time bickering then actually getting along, so why on Earth would she feel jealous in the first place?

She crossed her black tight clad legs and sat her chin in the palm of her hand, narrowing her eyes as she tried to observe the woman before her. Today, Amelie had gone with wedged Mary Jane's, a dark green tartan, long sleeve dress, a simple long gold chain necklace, and a pair of teardrop hanging earrings. She had straightened her hair and left it down, black nail polish, and smoky eye shadow.

"So who's after you?" Sherlock asked Irene.

Irene simply shrugged, hardly even looking at him, "People who want to kill me," she replied.

"Who's that?"

"Killers".

"It would help if you were a tiny bit more specific," John cut in, frowning at Irene.

"So you faked your own death in order to get ahead of them," Sherlock continued.

"It worked for a while," Irene agreed, shrugging once more.

"Yes, but then you made sure John and I found out the truth," Amelia remarked, raising her eyebrows at Irene, "Going to quite a bit of trouble to do so, even though you knew Sherlock would find out that you were still alive".

She smirked slightly, "I knew you'd keep my secret".

"You _couldn't_," Sherlock shook his head.

"But you _did_, didn't you?" her smirk widen as Amelia sighed slightly, knowing that she was right about that. Irene's gaze flickered around the room, "Where's my camera phone?" she questioned.

"It's not here," John informed her, sitting his coffee cup down beside his laptop on the table, "We're not stupid".

"Then what have you done with it? If they've guessed you've got it, they'll be watching you".

"If they've been watching me, they'll know that I took a safety deposit box at a bank on the Strand a few months ago," Sherlock responded easily, not sounding the slightest bit concerned.

Irene's eyes brightened as she leaned forward slightly in her chair towards Sherlock, "I need it," she said almost at once.

John looked in-between Sherlock and Irene, his frown deepening, "Well, we can't just go and get it, can we?" he commented, before realisation crossed his face and he straightened, focusing on Sherlock, "Molly Hooper," Amelia looked at him curiously, wondering just what he had in mind, "She could collect it," he continued, "Take it to Bart's, then one of your homeless network could bring it here, leave it in the café, and one of the boys downstairs could bring it up the back…"

Sherlock smiled, nodding, "Very good, John," he complimented, "Excellent plan, with intelligent precautions".

"Thank you," John reached to pick up his phone, "So, why don't…oh, for…" he trailed off, sighing in exasperation as he caught sight of Amelia reaching inside her black and green clutch bag sitting beside her on the table, and withdrawing the phone.

"Sorry, John," Amelia gave him a sheepish look, passing the phone over to Sherlock, who looked down at the phone, "Sherlock agreed to stop playing his violin in the early hours of the morning if I kept the phone with me," she explained to him.

Irene sat up straighter in her chair, her eyes fixed on the phone with an intent, almost hungry look as she stood from the chair.

"So what do you keep on here…" Sherlock glanced up from the device in his hand, raising his eyebrows, "In general, I mean?"

Irene crossed her arms across her chest, still eyeing the phone, "Pictures, information, anything I might find useful".

John frowned at her, "What, for blackmail?" he asked.

"For _protection_," she corrected, turning back to Sherlock, "I make my way in the world, I misbehave," she smiled slyly, "I like to know people will be on my side exactly when I need them to be".

"So how do you acquire this information?" Sherlock questioned, waving the phone around.

"I told you," her smile turned into a smirk, "I _misbehave_".

"Lovely," Amelia remarked sarcastically, quickly clearing her throat as the others looked at her, "But I'm assuming that you've now found something that's more danger, rather than an opportunity for protection," she reasoned.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at Irene, "Do you know what it is?"

"Yes…but I don't understand it".

"I assumed," he nodded, "Show me," she held out her hand for the phone, but he held it back out of reach, "The passcode'.

She simply continued to hold out her hand, waiting with a challenging smirk crossing her face, and reluctantly, Sherlock moved forward and handed the phone to her. She grinned, taking the phone and activated it, holding it close to her so that none of them could see as she typed four characters.

The phone beeped warningly.

Irene frowned deeply, looking down at the device in her hand, "It's not working…"

Sherlock stood and plucked the phone from her hands, "No, because it's a duplicate that I had made, into which you've just entered the numbers…" he held up the copied phone as John smiled, struggling to hold back an impressed laugh as Amelia smiled broadly at him, "1-0-5-8," he read aloud before turning to Irene, "I assumed you'd choose something more specific than that, but, um," he shrugged, "Thanks anyway," he held out a hand towards Amelia, "Amelia?"

Amelia smiled, her eyes twinkling as she stood and reached inside a pocket of her dress, withdrawing the real phone, "As if I would keep something like that in my purse," she commented, sounding almost amused by the idea as she handed the phone across to Sherlock.

He held it up the real phone and activated it, entering the code when…it beeped warningly. His eyes widened in confusion as Amelia and John frowned, exchanging a quick look.

Irene smiled slightly as he looked back over to her, "I _told_ you that camera phone was my life," she reminded him, "I know when it's in my hand".

"Oh, you're rather good," Sherlock remarked, eyeing her.

She shrugged, giving him a flirty smile, "You're not so bad," she resorted, taking the real phone from him.

They continued to stare at each other for a long moment as John and Amelia frowned at them, both a little unnerved by the intensity in there gaze.

"Hamish," John suddenly cut in, unable to take it any longer. They all blinked and turned to look at him, Irene lost her smile, "John Hamish Watson," he explained quickly, glancing at Amelia, as if asking for help.

"Oh!" Amelia exclaimed, catching on, giving him a small smile as relief crossed his face as Irene and Sherlock turned towards her, "Right, and add Amelia Grace onto the list," she nodded.

"Just…if you were looking for baby names," John clarified as Sherlock simply looked back at them blankly, completely confused about what they were trying to say.

Irene shook her head and looked down at her phone, "There was a man," she began, moving around Sherlock, "An MOD official. I knew what he liked," she stepped further away from them and typed the real password into her phone, glancing back over to them, "One of the things he liked doing was showing off. He told me this email was going to save the world," she brought up a picture and handed the phone over to Sherlock, who took it, looking down at the screen, "He didn't know it, but I photographed it," a smirk crossed her face, "He was a bit tied up at the time," Sherlock moved over towards Amelia and took a seat beside her, his eyes fixed on the screen, "It's a bit small on that screen, can you read it?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the screen as Amelia tried to crane her neck to see, but all she could make out was: 007 Confirmed allocation, followed by what appeared to be a string of numbers too finely printed for her to make out properly from her position.

"Yes," he replied, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

"A code, obviously," Irene sighed, watching him, "I had one of the best cryptographers in the country take a look at it, though he was mostly upside down, as I recall," John gave her a startled look, before picking up his coffee cup, "Couldn't figure it out," she moved closer to Sherlock, leaning over his shoulder as he focused on the screen, "What can you do, Mr Holmes?" she smirked, "Go on," she whispered into his ear, "Impress a girl".

She leaned in and kissed his cheek as Amelia felt herself tense, and John sat his cup back down on the table, swallowing his sip.

Sherlock seemed completely unaffected by the kiss as he only glanced at Irene from the corner of his eye before focusing back on the screen, "There's a margin for error but I'm pretty sure there's a Seven Forty-Seven leaving Heathrow tomorrow at six thirty in the evening for Baltimore," he rattled off rapidly, hardly even seeming to pause for breath, "Apparently it's going to save the world," he shook his head, "Not sure how that can be true but give me a moment, I've only been on the case for eight seconds".

Everyone stared at him in amazement, John's mouth was hanging open as Irene straightened, and Amelia could only blink at him.

"So those…" Amelia said slowly after a moment, regaining the ability to speak once more, gesturing to the phone in his hand as he glanced at her, "Those numbers are…what? Seat allocations for a plane?" she asked.

"Well done, Amelia," he nodded to her, turning to back to John and Irene, who continued to stare at him, "Oh, come on," he sighed, rolling his eyes slightly, "It's not code. Look…" he turned the phone around for John to see, speaking quickly again, "There's no letter 'I' because it can be mistaken for a '1,' no letters past 'K,' the width of the plane is the limit," he explained, "The numbers always appear randomly and not sequence but the letters have little runs of sequence all over the place, families and couples sitting together".

"Right, of course," Amelia smiled slightly, nodding along with him, "Only a Jumbo Jet would be wide enough to need the letter 'K'".

"Exactly," he inclined his head towards her, "Or rows past fifty five, which is why there's always an upstairs," he turned the phone back around to look at the screen, "There's a row thirteen, which eliminates the more superstitious airlines. Then there's the style of the flight number, 0-0-7, that eliminates a few more, and assuming a British point of origin, which would be logical considering the original source of the information and assuming from the increased pressure on you lately…" he stood, all the while still talking very fast, "That crisis in imminent, the only flight that matches all the criteria and departs within the week is the six thirty to Baltimore tomorrow evening from Heathrow Airport," he lowered the phone and looked at Irene, who looked up at him in admiration, "Please don't feel obligated to tell me that was remarkable or amazing," he told her, "John's expressed the same thought in every possible variant available to the English language".

Irene simply continued to look at him intently, so much so that it made Amelia feel the urge to look away, "I would have you right here on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice," she informed him.

A long moment passed between them before Sherlock broke the silence, his eyes still fixed on Irene's, "John, please can you check those flight schedules, see if I'm right?"

John blinked, a little stunned by what he had just witnessed, "Uh huh," he cleared his throat, looking back down to the open laptop before him, typing, "I'm on it, yeah".

"I've never begged for mercy in my life," Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes at Irene.

She smirked at him, "_Twice_," she repeated.

"Any time now, John," Amelia shot him a pointed look, shifting in her chair, feeling quite uncomfortable.

John clicked away on the computer for a moment before nodding, "Uh, yeah, you're right," he called, drawing Sherlock and Irene's attention back to him as he looked at the screen, "Uh, flight double-oh-seven".

Sherlock frowned, his head snapping around to look at him, "What did you say?" he asked quietly.

"You're right…"

"No, no, no, after that," he interrupted him, "What did you say after that?"

"Double-oh-seven. Flight double-oh-seven".

Sherlock began muttering it over and over under his breath, his mind racing as Amelia slowly stood, vaguely remembering something from several months ago, but she couldn't quite remember what. He lightly pushed Irene out of his way as he moved into the middle of the room and started pacing.

"…double-oh-seven," he continued muttering, growing frustrated, "…something…something connected to double-oh-seven…what?" he moved across to the fireplace, turning his back to the room, closing his eyes, "Double-oh-seven, double-oh-seven, what, what, something, what?"

Amelia gasped suddenly, her eyes flying across towards the open landing door as she remembered, "James Bond," she realised, her eyes snapping back over to Sherlock as he slowly turned to face her, "Sherlock, James Bond! Double-oh-seven!" she exclaimed, growing excited as she finally made the connection.

His eyes widened in realisation, recalling just what his brother had said while speaking on the phone, 'Bond Air is go'. He smiled triumphantly and meet Amelia's eyes, giving her an approving nod before turning and flopping down in his usual chair, bringing his fingers together under his chin, tuning everything else out…

…

Eventually, John left Baker Street to meet up with a new girl he was dating and Amelia quickly returned to her own flat, not wishing to remain in the same room with Irene, even if that meant leaving Sherlock alone with her, though, she didn't doubt that he would be able to handle himself if she attempted to get her claws into him…well, anymore into him then she already had.

Evening soon fell and Amelia settled down on her sofa, relaxing back with her legs tucked beneath her as she flipped through numerous channels. She had already finished dinner and even though she really didn't want to stay longer in the same room as Irene then she needed to, she could help but absently wonder just what the two of them were talking about, what they were doing, on the other hand, she really didn't want to know. Her phone dinged, alerting her to a new text, and she reached over to her coffee table to check it, smiling faintly as she read the message, before sitting it back down on the table.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson voice startled her from her thoughts, sounding muffled through the walls, "Amelia!"

Curious, Amelia turned off the TV and grabbed her shoes from under her coffee table, carrying them as she walked across to the door between her flat and next doors, opening it to see Mrs Hudson making her way up the stairs, "Is everything alright…?" she began to ask, trailing off when she caught sight of who was coming up the stairs behind the older woman.

It was the same man that had taken her and Sherlock to the Palace months before, only he was wearing a different suit.

"Oh, Amelia," Mrs Hudson smiled at her as Amelia stepped fully onto the landing, closing the door behind her as she eyed the man, "Where's Sherlock, dear?"

"Living room, I expect," she answered, saying softly, "Unless Irene's dragged him somewhere a little more privet".

Mrs Hudson pushed the living room door open and strolled in, "Sherlock, this man was at the door," she told him, frowning slightly as Amelia stepped fully into the room, unsurprised to find that Irene was nowhere in sight as he sat in his usual chair, "Is the bell still not working?" she looked back to the man as he moved into the room behind them, pointing back to Sherlock, "He shot it".

Sherlock looked at the man, "Have you come to take us away _again_?" he questioned, sounding annoyed.

"Yes, Mr Holmes," the man replied calmly, not appearing to be bothered in the slightest by Sherlock's tone as he glanced over to Amelia, "Both you and Miss Wilson".

"Well, I decline".

He reached inside his pocket and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to Sherlock as he moved across the room towards him, "I don't think you do," he remarked.

Sherlock sighed and took the envelope, practically snatching it out of the man's hands, and opened it. He removed two slips of paper and looked at one for a moment before holding the second one out, "Amelia," he nodded to her.

Amelia moved forward and took the paper, and sighed slightly. It was a Business Class boarding pass for Flyaway Airways with her name printed across it for the flight double-oh-seven to Baltimore, "I suppose I had better get my coat," she commented warily.

Once she had returned to her flat to grab her coat and bag, her shoes back in place, she and Sherlock were led down stairs and into a waiting car outside, driving away.

"Amelia," Sherlock glanced across to Amelia, who sat beside him, "What do you know about Coventry?"

She blinked, a little surprised by the question, "Well, my Dad once told me a story about Coventry when I was a kid," she said slowly, scrunching up her face as she tried to remember just what her Father had told her, "During the Second World War, the Allies found out that Coventry was going to be bombed, but they couldn't do anything about it without revealing that they had broken the German code, so to prevent the German's discovering that they had broken there code, they let the bombing happen".

He nodded approvingly as he reached inside his coat pocket, "Good, that saves time having to explain the story to you," he remarked, withdrawing his plane ticket from his pocket, and focusing his attention to the front passenger seat were the man who had come to collect them was sitting, "There's going to be a bomb on a passenger jet," he began, "The British and American governments know about it but rather than expose the source of that information, they're going to let it happen. The plane blows up".

"Oh!" Amelia breathed, catching on to what he had been getting at before by asking her about Coventry, "So, basically, they're just reusing an old idea," she realised.

"Exactly," he agreed, nodding to her, "The wheel turns…" he mimed something turning, "_Nothing_ is ever new".

The man remained silent, not even looking back to them, seeming determined to keep his gaze fixed on the front window of the car as they continued to drive through London. Minutes went by and still, not a word had been spoken as they arrived at Heathrow Airport, driving passed the huge hangers as the car turned and pulled up right beside a 747 Jumbo Jet that was parked on the tarmac.

Sherlock opened the back door and stepped out of the car, stepping back to allow Amelia to step out after him, before closing it behind her, and turning to look around to see the American man that had hit Mrs Hudson standing a short distance away by a set of steps leading up to the planes open door.

"Well, you're lookin' all better," Sherlock said casually, mocking the man's accent as they approached him, "How ya feelin'?"

"Like putting a bullet in your brain…" the American man's voice was stiff and level as he spoke, but he glared coldly at Sherlock, "_Sir_," Sherlock smirked, looking quite amused as he began to make his way up the steps as Amelia cast the man a frown as she followed, "They'd pin a medal on me if I did…" he continued, making them both pause halfway up the steps, and glance back to him, "Sir, ma'am".

Amelia opened her mouth to say something before she closed it, her frown deepening. She couldn't help but feel a small spark of dread at that last comment, the way he had said it, the look on his face. It hadn't just been a threat, but more or a statement.

Sherlock grabbed her arm and began leading her up the steps once more, seeming to not want to spend more time around the man. They stepped through the plane's door and into the darkened space, pushing a curtain aside to move into the main cabin area…only to stop short. Even with the lack of lighting, the entire space was eerily silent, all the seats were filled, and yet not one person was moving or talking, all of them slumped in their seats, completely lifeless.

Amelia inhaled sharply, her eyes widening as she slowly moved down one of the ails, staring around at all the passages. Sherlock, frowning, moved across to one of the overhead lights and switched it on, casting the bright light over a man and woman, and leaned closer towards them, examining them.

"They're all…dead," Amelia said softly, swallowing as she eyed the very grey skin on all the passengers around them. She was more then used to being around dead bodies, but nothing on this scale. It was a little overwhelming.

"The Coventry conundrum," Mycroft suddenly entered the space from the other end of the plane, pushing aside the curtain between the first class section. Sherlock whirled around to face him as Amelia's head snapped up, both startled by his appearance, "What do you think of my solution?" he asked them, watching them as they cast their eyes around again, still trying to take it all in, "The flight of the dead".

"The plane blows up mid-air," Sherlock nodded, still looking around, "Mission accomplished for the terrorists".

"Hundreds of people dead," Amelia added, her voice quiet, "But not a single person dies".

"Neat, don't you think?" Mycroft commented, and Sherlock's mouth twitched, "You've both been stumbling round the fringes of this one for ages…" something changed in his tone as he continued, fixing his gaze onto Sherlock, "Or were you too bored to notice the pattern?"

"Oh, of course…" Amelia shook her head as it hit her, feeling like a complete idiot for not putting it together sooner. The little girls that had come to Baker Street all those months ago about their Grandfather, the man with the funeral urn, claiming it wasn't human ash…

Mycroft inclined his head towards her, "We ran a similar project with the Germans a while back," he went on, "Though, I believe one of our passengers didn't make the flight," Amelia sighed, recalling the man from the boot of the car that Lestrade had consulted with them on. He shrugged, "But that's the deceased for you. Late, in every sense of the word".

Sherlock glanced over towards him, "How's the plane going to fly?" he questioned, before shaking his head, answering himself straight away, "Of course, unmanned aircraft. Hardly new".

Mycroft frowned at them, "It _doesn't_ fly, it will_ never_ fly," he informed them, "This entire project is cancelled," Amelia looked at him in confusion, "The terrorist cells have been informed that we know about the bomb," Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a look as the brunet closed her eyes tightly, desperately hoping that James hadn't had anything to do with it, but she could already tell that he had, "We can't fool them now," his eyes hardened, "We've lost _everything_. One fragment of one email, and months and years of planning…finished".

Sherlock nodded, "Your MOD man".

"That's all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special".

He raised his eyebrows back to his brother as Amelia looked back and forth between them, worriedly, "Hmm…" he hummed, looking away, "You should screen your defence people more carefully".

"He's not talking about the MOD man, Sherlock," Amelia cut in, taking a deep breath as he frowned, seeming confused, and his head snapped around to look at her, "He's talking about _you_".

"The damsel in distress," Mycroft said softly, smiling ironically as Sherlock turned back to him, "In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption, then give him a puzzle…" he sighed heavily, his voice turning into a whisper as he lifted his umbrella and twirled it at his brother, "…and watch him dance".

Amelia ducked her head, shaking it sadly. She had suspected all along that Irene had been playing Sherlock, she just never thought it would go this far, nor that Sherlock would actually fall for it. And now, not only he would pay the price, but so many others, too.

"Don't be absurd!" Sherlock snapped, narrowing his eyes at Mycroft.

"Absurd?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows, "How quickly did you decipher that email for her? Was it the full five minutes, or were you really _eager_ to impress?"

"I think it was less than five seconds," Irene's voice suddenly drifted through the room, making them spin around to see her standing behind them at the end of the cabin. She was back in her heels and red lipstick, her hair curled up into a bun, and she had replaced Sherlock's dressing gown with a dark grey, fitted dress. She smirked smugly at Sherlock and Amelia.

"I drove you into her path," Mycroft remarked quietly, sounding regretful as he paused, "I'm sorry," he sighed heavily and lowered his eyes to the floor, "I didn't know".

Sherlock could only stare at Irene as she walked closer, "Mr Holmes, I think we need to talk," she said, her gaze on Mycroft.

"So do I," Sherlock agreed, narrowing his eyes at her, "There are a number of aspects I'm still not quite clear on".

Irene didn't even glance at him, "Not you, Junior," she pushed passed him and Amelia, "You're done now," she stepped closer to Mycroft as Sherlock stared after her. Amelia sighed, shaking her head, "There's more…loads more," she held up her phone for Mycroft to see and activated it, "On this phone I've got secrets, pictures, and scandals that could topple you _whole_ world," she smirked at him as Mycroft swallowed, "You have no _idea_ how much havoc I can cause and exactly one way to stop me, unless you want to tell your masters that your biggest security leak is your own little brother".

Mycroft couldn't hold her gaze any longer and looked away, lowering his eyes to the floor.

…...

Mycroft sat at his dining room table, Irene sat across from him, looking quite pleased with herself as Sherlock sat a short distance away in an armchair by the fire, turned away from his brother and Irene, staring at the flames, while Amelia sat in a similar armchair beside him, her legs crossed, refusing to even look in Irene's direction. She was afraid just what she might do if she did.

"We have people who can get into this," Mycroft remarked, his tone calm and without even a hint of anger, pointing to Irene's phone that sat on the table before him. He almost seemed resigned to what was happening.

"I tested that theory for you," Irene replied, smirking smugly, "I let Sherlock Holmes try it for six months," Sherlock closed his eyes briefly, grimacing, "Sherlock, dear, tell him what you found when you X-rayed my camera phone," she called through the room to him, still looking at Mycroft.

"There are four additional units wired inside the casing," Sherlock began, his voice sounding flat as Amelia sighed heavily, slumping further into her chair, "I suspect containing acid or a small amount of explosive," he continued as Mycroft covered his face, "Any attempt to open the casing will burn the hard drive".

"Explosive," Irene turned to Mycroft, raising her eyebrows at him, "It's more me".

Mycroft uncovered his face to look at her, "Some data is always recoverable," he tried to argue.

She nodded to him, not looking the slightest bit concerned, "Take that risk".

"You have a passcode to open this. I deeply regret to say we have people who can extract it from you".

She calmly looked across the room to Sherlock, "Sherlock?"

"I'm afraid that there's two passcodes," Amelia spoke before Sherlock, casting him a mildly concerned look, not used to seeing him so…quiet. Well, not like this, anyway, "One will open the phone and the other…" she sighed heavily, looking over to meet Mycroft's eyes, trying to ignore Irene entirely, "Will burn the hard drive".

"Even under duress you can't know which one she's given you," Sherlock added softly, his gaze still fixed on the flames in the fireplace, "And there will be no point in a second attempt".

Irene smiled, looking over towards Sherlock and Amelia, "They're good, aren't they?" she commented to Mycroft, her eyes still on them as she spoke, "I should have them on a leash, in fact, I _might_".

"Not a chance in hell, Adler," Amelia muttered angrily, clinching the armrest of her chair tightly as she tried to ignore the feeling of Irene's intense gaze on the side of her head. Sherlock, too, completely ignored Irene.

Mycroft sighed, "We destroy this, then," he suggested, picking up the phone and holding it up, looking at Irene, "_No one_ has the information".

"Fine," Irene nodded, turning back to him, "Good idea…unless there are lives of British citizens depending on the information you're about to burn".

"Are there?"

"Telling you would be playing fair," she responded, shaking her head, "I'm not playing anymore," she reached into her handbag that she had sitting beside her on the table and pulled out an envelope, pushing it across the table towards Mycroft, "A list of requests, and some ideas about my protection once they're granted," he took it and unfolded a sheet of paper from the envelope, "I'd say it wouldn't blow much of a hole in the wealth of the nation, but then I'd be lying," he began reading and his eyebrows rose in amazement, "I imagine you'd like to sleep on it," she said, watching him read.

He continued to read, "Yes, thank you".

"Too bad," she smiled slightly as his head snapped up to look at her, frowning, "Off you pop and talk to people," she nodded over towards the door.

Mycroft sighed heavily and fell back against his chair, "You've been very…thorough," he said warily, glancing down to the paper in his hands, "I wish our lot were half as good as you".

"I can't take all the credit," she shrugged, "Had a bit of help," she turned towards Sherlock and Amelia, a smirk playing across her lips as she eyed them, "Oh, Jim Moriarty sends his love, especially to his dear sister".

Sherlock looked up slowly in realisation as Amelia groaned, running a hand down her face, "I knew he was behind this," she murmured, shaking her head angrily at herself, closing her eyes, "I should have known from the moment I found out you were renting my house".

Mycroft looked back across to Irene, "Yes, he's been in touch," he commented, "Seems desperate for my attention…" his voice grew colder as he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a pen, "…which I'm sure can be arranged".

Something occurred to Amelia and slowly, she sat up straighter in her chair, her mind suddenly whirling as she began making connections. Her eyes drifted across to Sherlock, who was still looking at the flames, and she knew that she needed to try and do something, anything to try and fix things, because Sherlock might have played a big role in all of this, but so had she, not to mention her brother, and she needed to try and make things right. She refused to simply sit back and allow James to win, not this time. He had made things personal going after one of her friends, and now she would do the same thing.

Irene stood, "I had all this stuff, never knew what to do with it," she remarked, moving to sit on the edge of the table close to Mycroft, "Thank God for the consulting criminal," she smiled slightly as she looked at Mycroft, tucking her foot behind her leg, "Gave me a lot advice about how to play the Holmes boys. D'you know what he calls you?" she raised her eyebrows at Mycroft, her voice growing soft, "The Ice Man…" she looked across the room and over to Sherlock, "…and the Virgin," she turned back to Mycroft, "Didn't even ask for anything. I think he just likes to cause trouble," she smirked, "Now _that's_ my kind of man".

"And here you are, the dorminatrix who brought a nation to its knees," Mycroft sighed, standing from his chair, and giving her a grim nod, "Nicely played," he turned away, heading towards the door to give into her demands as Irene stood, smiling smugly, knowing that she had won…

Amelia's soft laugh broke through the silence of the room, making them all turn towards her, frowning, "Oh, not quite," she smiled, looking over towards them, her eyes coming to rest on Irene.

"Sorry?" Irene blinked at her as Sherlock and Mycroft looked at her, both looking confused and even a little alarmed.

Her smile widened as she stood from her chair, shaking her head, "I said not quite," she repeated, her eyes twinkling as she slowly began to walk across the room towards Irene, "So close, so _painfully_ close, but just not close enough," Mycroft and Sherlock exchanged looks, "You got too caught up in the game, you began to enjoy it too much".

She smirked at her, "No such thing as too much".

Amelia laughed, shaking her head, "Oh, but there is. There's a difference between enjoying and indulging, and you certainly have been indulging in this little game," she argued, grinning, "Believe me, I get it. I know what it's like to enjoy the thrill of the chase, craving the distraction of the game…Sherlock can understand that completely, but _this_," she gestured towards Irene, "This is so much more than just a game now, this is sentiment".

Irene's smirk began to fade to be replaced with confusion, "Sentiment?" she questioned, frowning at her, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play the fool, Irene, it doesn't suit you. I'm talking about you and Sherlock".

She stared at her for a moment before laughing, "Oh dear God," she said, smiling calmly at her, "You don't think I was interested in him?" she scoffed, nodding over towards Sherlock, "Why? Because you are?" Amelia rolled her eyes, but remained silent, knowing that she was just trying to bait her, "Or because he's the great Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hat?" she continued.

"No…" she shook her head, leaning closer towards her, "Because I've been watching you for months, all those little reactions you tried so hard to hide," Irene's smile froze, "I have to admit, you fooled me for a while into believing it was all just a game, but then I thought about what might happen If I actually started to look at this differently," she smirked at her as she reached around Irene and picked up the phone from the table, "And it all fell into place. The lingering glances at Sherlock, your pulse visible in your neck…" as she spoke, she picked up Irene's wrist with her free hand and felt her pulse, her smirk widening, "Elevated. Feeling a little nervous?"

Irene tried to pull away, but Amelia's grip was too tight. Her eyes flickered across to Sherlock and Mycroft, trying to hide the fear that was steadily beginning to make its way across her face.

"Then there was the pupil dilation," Amelia continued calmly, hardly appearing to even notice Irene's distress, "That one was tricky, but luckily you're not the only one who can text behind there back," she nodded over to Sherlock, who's moth twitched as Irene's eyes snapped over to him, looking shocked, "He and I might bicker, but we do make a rather good team, and when I told him about my suspicions, he was only more than happy to engage in a little experiment," she broke into a grin and turned away from Irene, walking across to the fireplace, "Now, I have to admit that chemistry never has been a strong suit of mine, but human behaviour has always been a keen interest," she turned around to find Irene had followed her, staring at her with wide eyes, "Do you remember when we first meet and you told us, 'a disguise is always a self-portrait?' And you were right. The combination of your safe, your measurements, but this…" she held up the phone, waving it around, a look of almost pity crossing her face, "This is your _life_, you said so yourself. It's _intimate_".

Irene swallowed thickly.

She turned the phone around to show the 'I AM…LOCKED' screen flashing across it, "This is your heart," she went on, her voice growing softer as, without taking her eyes off Irene's, she hit the first character into the phone, "You poured everything into it…" a look of panic began to cross Irene's face as she hit the second character, "And you allowed your heart to rule your head, a mistake that you should never make while playing a game like this. You could have walked away tonight will everything you've worked for just by picking a set of random numbers…" she hit a third character, smiling almost sadly, "But you simply couldn't resist, could you?" she went to hit the fourth and final character, when Irene grabbed her wrist.

"Everything I said…" Irene said quickly, looking desperate, her voice soft, "It's not real. I was just playing the game".

"I know," Amelia nodded, still smiling sadly at her as she stepped back, typing the final character, "And now you've payed the price".

The phone beeped in acceptance and slowly, she turned the phone around for them to all see as Irene's eyes filled with tears:

I AM-SHER-LOCKED.

Amelia turned and walked across to Mycroft, holding the phone out to him as Irene stood, frozen, "I believe this was what you were after, Mycroft," she said to him, "I do hope that the contents makes up for any inconvenient myself and Sherlock have caused you tonight".

Mycroft smiled and stepped forward, "I'm certain they will," he remarked, taking the phone.

Sherlock moved beside Amelia and, much to her surprise, took her arm, "Well done, Amelia," he commented, making her blink even more as he began to guild her back down the room, and over towards the door, "I didn't think you had it in you".

Amelia sighed slightly, feeling a spark of guilt as she glanced at Irene. She couldn't help but feel sorry for Irene, despite everything that she had done, all the lives she had almost destroyed, in the end, her big mistake had been falling in love, and now her life was ruined because of that, "Nor did I," she agreed quietly.

He glanced back over his shoulder towards his brother, "If you're feeling kind, lock her up," he called back through the room to Mycroft, "Otherwise let her go. I doubt she'll survive long without protection".

Irene stared after them, her eyes wide with horror as they stepped towards the door, "Are you expecting me to beg?" she asked.

He paused, not looking at her, "Yes," he replied, his voice flat.

She continued to look at him for a long moment, desperation written across her face as she swallowed thickly, "Please," he didn't move, "You're right…" finally, he turned to look at her, emotionless, "I won't even last six months," she tried pleadingly.

He simply looked at her, completely emotionless, "Sorry about dinner".

And with that, he turned and walked across to the door, opening it before looking back to Amelia, obviously waiting for her. Amelia hesitated, biting her lip as she looked back to Irene. She hadn't wanted Irene's blood on her hands, but she had been left with little choice in the matter, and now there was nothing that she could do. She sighed heavily and reluctantly followed after Sherlock.

…

The rain was pouring down outside of Baker Street as Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, looking through his microscope, while Amelia stood across the kitchen by one of the kitchen cabinets, stirring the contents of two tea cups, just as the sound of John's footsteps sounded on the stairs through the open landing door.

"Clearly you've got news," Sherlock remarked, his eyes still fixed on the microscope before him as John moved into view, looking slightly damp from the rain outside and holding a plastic folder under his arm, "If it's about the Leeds triple murder, it was the gardener," he continued, "Nobody noticed the earring".

"Hi," John began a little awkwardly as Amelia raised her eyebrows at him. He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to word it, knowing that it was still a very sensitive subject for both them, even though it had been several weeks since, Amelia had been quieter than normal. He knew that she felt guilty for the role that she had played, "Er…no, it's…um…" he slowly stepped further into the kitchen, "…it's about Irene Adler".

He glanced up from the microscope as Amelia turned around from the cabinet, giving John her full attention, "Oh?" he asked, not seeming overly concerned or interested, "Something happened? Has she come back?'

"No, she's, er…" he shook his head, glancing back towards the door, "I just bumped into Mycroft downstairs," he informed them, "He had to take a call".

"Right…" Amelia nodded slowly, looking a little unsure, crossing her arms across her chest, "But what about Adler? Has she come back to London?"

"No. She's, er…" he hesitated, looking back and forth between the two as they raised their eyebrows at him, waiting. He sucked in a deep breath before meeting their eyes, "She's in America," he finally answered.

Sherlock frowned and stood, moving around the table towards him, "America?" he repeated.

"Mmm. Got herself on a witness protection scheme, apparently. Dunno how she swung it, but, er…well, you know".

His frowned deepened as Amelia sighed in relief, hearing that Irene was somewhere out there, safe and alive, "I know what?" he questioned.

"Well, you won't be able to see her again…"

"Why would I want to see her again?" he narrowed his eyes at him.

John smiled slightly as Sherlock walked back around the table, "Didn't say you did," he muttered.

"So, is that her file?" Amelia gestured to the plastic folder John had under his arm.

"Yes," John nodded, holding it up, and glancing back over towards the doorway, "I was just going to take it back to Mycroft…" he paused, looking back to them as Sherlock took his seat before his microscope once more, "Do you want…?" he began, holding the folder out towards them.

"No," Sherlock shook his head, not looking up.

Amelia gave John a small smile, "Thanks, but I think I'd rather put that whole mess behind me," she commented, going back to her tea as she picked up the second cup and sat it down beside Sherlock.

"Hmm," John hummed, not very surprised, but still, he hesitated, looking from the door and back over to Sherlock, "Listen, actually…" he started, taking a small step towards the table.

"Oh, but I_ will_ have the camera phone, though," Sherlock cut across him, holding out his hand towards John, not looking up. Amelia lowered her gaze to her cup.

He blinked at him, glancing down to the phone in the folder, "There's nothing on it any more," he told him, "It's been stripped".

"I know, but I…" he paused for a long moment, still holding out his hand, "I'll still have it".

"I've gotta give this back to Mycroft. You can't keep it," Sherlock continued to hold out his hand, waiting. John shook his head, "Sherlock, I _have _to give this to Mycroft. It's the governments now," he tried to explain to him, "I couldn't even give…"

"Please," he extended his hand further. John sighed and glanced at Amelia, who shrugged, looking away, really not wanting to get involved all over again. John opened the folder and withdrew the phone, handing it to Sherlock, "Thank you," Sherlock smiled, tucking the phone into his trouser pocket.

John eyed him for a moment, seeming a little unsure as he nodded down to the folder, "Well, I'd better take this back…"

"Yes".

"Tell Mycroft I said 'hi,'" Amelia called to John as he began heading towards the door, before taking a sip of her tea.

John nodded slowly, pausing in the doorway as he turned back around to look at them, his eyes coming to rest on Sherlock, who still hadn't looked up, "Did she ever text you again, after…" he glanced at Amelia, "…all that?"

"Once," Sherlock admitted quietly, "A few months ago".

"What did she say?"

"'Goodbye, Mr Holmes'".

John looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, "Huh," he turned back around towards the door, before pausing, seeming to consider saying something else, until he shook his head and walked out.

The moment that the sound of his footsteps sounded on the stairs, Sherlock looked up. He glanced across to Amelia before picking up Irene's old phone, fiddling with it as he stood and began walking into the living room and over to the window, looking out over the wet street.

Amelia shook her head, looking amused as she followed after him, and flopped down onto the sofa, sitting her cup on the coffee table, "You would think that John would be a better liar by now," she commented, glancing over to Sherlock, "Are you sure you don't want to tell him the truth?"

Sherlock turned around from the window to face her, throwing the phone up in the air and catching it, "The truth?" he repeated, almost sounding innocent.

She gave him a look, "I know that you saved Irene, Holmes," she told him, "You might have fooled John and even Mycroft, but I know that case you claimed to go on a few weeks ago wasn't really what you said it was, and…" she hesitated, before sighing, "Thank you, for saving her, I mean. The last thing I ever wanted was for her to end up dead because of me".

The corner of his mouth twitched as he leaned across the living room table, pulling open one of the draws, and put Irene's phone inside, before closing it once more. He turned back to her as he straightened, "I've underestimated you again," he remarked quietly, and it was hard to tell just how he felt about that.

"Oh?"

"Well, I didn't catch that Moriarty was your brother".

She smiled slightly as she stood, heading over towards the living room door, "Perhaps you just weren't looking closely enough," she shrugged, glancing back over her shoulder to him.

Sherlock eyed her for a moment, seeming to be debating with himself, "Dinner?" he said suddenly.

Amelia stopped in the doorway and looked back to him, frowning in confusion, "Dinner?"

"Yes, have dinner with me tonight".

"When you say dinner…" she began slowly, narrowing her eyes at him.

He rolled his eyes at her, a look of irritation crossing his face, "At a restaurant," he clarified, looking as if he was starting to regret ever opening his mouth.

She stared at him for a long moment, completely taken aback by the offer. They had gone out for dinner before, of course, but that had always been with John, and she could tell already that Sherlock hadn't been talking about John when he had asked. It almost sounded like…a date, but surly that couldn't be true? Not after everything with Adler, she expected that he would have been even more against the idea of anything romantic, and yet…

Amelia broke into a bright smile, nodding, "Alright, then".

_**And onto 'The Hounds of Baskerville,' finally. I hope you liked the end of the chapter there, a little bit of flirting and kind of a date, and is Irene Adler still 'the Woman' to Sherlock? I'll leave you to decide on that one. Amelia's outfit is on my profile and Tumblr. I hope you liked it. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	6. Chapter 6The Hound of Baskerville,part1

_**The Hound of Baskerville, part 1**_

John had just finished his breakfast and taken a seat in his usual armchair when the sound of the front door being opened and closed sounded downstairs. He had woken that morning to find a note stuck to his bedroom door with Amelia's handwriting sprawled across it, saying that she and Sherlock had gone out to investigate their latest case that somehow involved a pig. He wasn't entirely sure if he even wanted to know, he was just grateful that they had left him out of it and let him catch up on some much needed sleep.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase outside before making their way onto the landing, and as he listened, he could hear the distinctive sound of a heel, just as the living room door sprung open and Amelia walked in, wrapped up in a thick black coat and a dark purple, woollen scarf around her neck.

"Morning," she greeted him, sounding quite cheerful despite the early wakeup call she had had. Sherlock had walked into her bedroom and demanded that she get up and ready before the sun had even risen, and had even gone so far as to start pulling out clothing and throwing them onto her bed. It had only been when he had threatened to pick out her underwear that she had thrown a pillow at him as she told him to get out.

It hadn't been the best wakeup call…though, compared to the time that he had woken her up with a horn, it had been quite nice. And she had to admit, he hadn't done a bad job at picking out clothing, they all matched, at least. A purple sleeveless blouse with white polka-dots, dark blue skinny jeans, and knee high, purple sued high heeled boots that had luckily missed hitting her when he had thrown them. That had only left her to pick out a pair of pearl stud earrings, lip gloss, put her hair up in a ponytail, and red nail polish.

"Hi," John replied, frowning slightly as he glanced back towards the living room door as she closed it, pulling her coat, scarf, and bag off, sitting them on the sofa, "Where's Sherlock?" he asked, realising he hadn't heard his footsteps.

"He'll be here soon," she told him, moving to sit in Sherlock's usual chair across from him, crossing her legs casually, "He's…ah, taking the Tube," the corner of her mouth twitched, almost as if she was trying hard not to smile.

"Why?"

"You'll see," she said vaguely, "Trust me, you will understand just why I didn't want to be seen sitting beside him soon".

"Right…" John said slowly, still looking slightly confused, "How did the case go?" he questioned, curiously. He wasn't even sure what the case was about, Sherlock and Amelia had been working more and more on cases together lately, or at least on the few cases that they had received.

He had also started to notice that they spent more time around each other when they weren't working, they seemed to have developed a routine of going out for dinner once or twice a week now, just the two of them, and returning later that night. When he had asked about it, they had both simply said that they had talked about past cases, both insisting that none of the dinners had been dates. He wasn't entirely sure if he believed them, but he had decided it was best not to mention it, at least, not yet.

Their usual bickering had decreased and they now seemed to actually enjoy each other's company, Amelia had even managed to get him to start watching some movies with her after discovering his poor pop-culture knowledge and Sherlock had talked her into helping him with one of his experiments that involved a human kidney. John would have thought that the two of them were secretly dating if he hadn't known better with how much time they spent with each other these days, though, he couldn't help but feel just a little bit grateful. If it meant he didn't have to put up with Sherlock's moods all the time, he would have welcomed almost anything.

"Good," Amelia nodded, breaking into a small smile, "We might even see something about it in tonight's news. To be honest, I'm not even sure why Sherlock insisted I go with him this morning, he would have been perfectly fine without me," she sighed, shaking her head, "I just stood there, taking notes and trying hard not to get within splatter distance".

He smiled slightly sympathetically, knowing the feeling, just as the door downstairs opened and closed, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs and landing. The living room door flew open a moment later and a dull thump sounded on the floor, making them both turn to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, his white shirt stained with blood, along with his face, hair, and hands, while he held a blood stained harpoon that was taller than he was.

John's eyes widened as he stared at the state his flatmate was in, his mouth falling open as his eyes went from Sherlock to the harpoon in his grasp. He hadn't even known that Sherlock _owned_ a harpoon. Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh at the expression on John's face, half wishing she had thought to grab her phone and taken a picture.

"Well, that was tedious," Sherlock remarked calmly, slightly out of breath.

"You went on the Tube like _that_?" John exclaimed, gaping at him.

He gave him an irritated look, "None of the cabs would take me," he complained.

"I don't blame them," Amelia commented mildly, eyeing him with an amused look, "You look like you just butchered someone, that's hardly going to want to make people pick you up".

"It's only pig's blood," he grumbled, waving a dismissive hand, turning and heading off through the kitchen towards his bedroom, still holding his harpoon.

John stared after him, still looking shocked before he turned back to Amelia, needing to know exactly what had happened. His imagination was already running wild, "Explain, please".

…

Half an hour later, Sherlock returned to the living room, freshly showered and dressed in clean trousers, a white shirt over which he had worn his blue dressing gown that billowed behind him as he paced back and forth across the living room, still holding his harpoon. Every now and then, he would glance between Amelia and John as John flickered through a stack of newspapers and Amelia checked her phone, trying to find a new case to try and entertain him.

"Nothing?" he asked impatiently, his movements erratic as he paced.

"Military coup in Unganda," John informed him.

"Hmm," he hummed, hardly even taking a second to consider it.

"Ooh!" Amelia's eye lit up, suddenly excited, "Valentino are releasing their latest collection…" she trailed off as Sherlock and John both looked at her, raising their eyebrows while Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. She coughed, embarrassed as she hastily turned her phone off and placed it in her lap, "Right, sorry, supposed to be looking for cases," she muttered sheepishly, "Just got a little…distracted".

John cleared his throat, looking back to the newspaper, when he smiled slightly as he caught sight of something on another paper. The other two looked at him, "Another photo of you with the, er…" he pointed at a picture of Sherlock in the deerstalker splashed across the page.

Sherlock grimaced and made a sound of disgust, turning away from them and started pacing again, tossing the harpoon from hand to hand as he did so.

"Wasn't there something about a Cabinet reshuffle?" Amelia remarked thoughtfully, vaguely recalling hearing about it briefly on the news that morning before Sherlock had managed to drag her out of her flat. Not that she really expected that would interest Sherlock, that was more Mycroft's area of interest.

"Nothing of importance?" Sherlock muttered, frustrated as he thumped the end of the harpoon down onto the ground, "Oh, God!" he shouted up at the ceiling before suddenly looking back over to them intently, "I need some," he told them, determined, "_Get_ me some".

John didn't even blink, "No," he said calmly.

He narrowed his eyes and whirled around to look at Amelia, who simply raised her eyebrows at him, "Amelia, I need some," he repeated, his tone lower and a bit politer, "Get me some…please," he stumbled slightly over the last word.

Amelia shook her head at him, allowing a small smile to cross her face. She couldn't help but be just a little amused by the attempt, "Nice try, Holmes," she said, and Sherlock dropped the act at once, looking slightly annoyed.

"Cold turkey, we agreed," John reminded him, pointing a stern finger at him as Sherlock made a face at him, huffing, "No matter what," he continued as Sherlock leant the harpoon against the dining table, "Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember?" he grabbed another paper, glancing over to Sherlock, "No one within a two mile radius'll sell you any".

"Stupid idea," Sherlock grumbled, shaking his head as he turned back to them, "Who's idea was that?" they both looked at him, John clearing his throat pointedly. He quickly looked across to the living room door, "Mrs Hudson!" he shouted, wanting to try and move past that little mistake.

Amelia watched, caught between amusement and exasperation as Sherlock moved over to the dining table and started shuffling through the paper work that was scattered across the top, desperately searching, hurling paper everywhere and onto the floor, "Oh, come on, Sherlock," she sighed, shaking her head at him, "Don't give up now, you have been doing so well lately. You just need something to distract you…why don't you play your violin?" she suggested hopefully.

"Tell me where they are," he demanded, still frantically searching, sending paper flying into the air, "Please. Tell me," John and Amelia exchanged looks, remaining exactly where they were. He straightened and turned back to them, trying to give them a puppy-dog eyes look, hesitating before he spoke, "Please," he finally managed to get out, hopeful.

"Can't help, sorry," John said, shaking his head as he looked back to his open paper.

"Not a chance, Sherlock," Amelia replied seriously.

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers," Sherlock tried, and John laughed. He sighed heavily, disappointed, "Oh, it was worth a try," he looked around the room, when an idea came to him and he darted over to the front of the fireplace, throwing himself onto the floor as he began searching through more items, Amelia and John sighed slightly. He held up an old slipper, giving it a shake, but when nothing fell out of it he tossed it over his shoulder and started tossing the books in front of the grating around.

"Ooh-ooh!" Mrs Hudson called, stepping into the open living room door.

"My secret supply!" he told her, almost in a sing-song voice, still rummaging around, not even looking up at her, "What have you done with my secret supply?"

She frowned at his back, confused as she moved to stand beside John's chair, "Eh?" she asked.

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?"

"You know you never let me touch your things," she reminded him, shaking her head, casting her eyes around the room, "Ooh, chance would be a fine thing," she muttered, noticing all the paper scattered around the floor.

Sherlock stood and spun around to face her, narrowing his eyes at her, "I thought you _weren't_ my housekeeper," he commented, a hint of annoyance entering his tone.

"I'm not," she said firmly. He grunted in frustration and stormed back across the living room, grabbing his harpoon as Amelia mimicked drinking tea to Mrs Hudson, sending Sherlock's back a pointed look, hoping the older woman might be able to calm him down a bit, "How about a nice cuppa…" the older woman offered Sherlock, her eyes drifting warily over the harpoon, "…and perhaps you could put away your harpoon".

"I need something _stronger _then tea," he turned back around to face them, clutching the harpoon, "Seven percent stronger," he said more to himself, almost thoughtful.

"Sherlock," Amelia frowned sharply at him, her tone holding a hard edge to it. She hated thinking about him relapsing, it made her feel ill just thinking about it, imagining him high and in a drug den somewhere in London. He had such a brilliant mind and while she could understand wanting to dull his senses, it was still a horrible thought to imagine all of that brilliance being destroyed by drugs, "That's quite enough talk like _that_," she finished, fixing him with a very serious look.

Sherlock sighed heavily, the only indication that he had even heard her as he glared out the window, but much to her surprise, when he did turn back around he sent her a small, forced nod, almost as if he was agreeing. Amelia was quite sure that if she hadn't been watching him as carefully as she had been, that she would have missed it.

He suddenly turned on Mrs Hudson, narrowing his eyes at the older woman as he pointed the harpoon at her, making her gasp and flitch, eyeing the sharp, pointed end, "You've been to Mr Chatterjee again," he remarked, eyeing her closely.

Mrs Hudson stared at him, surprised, "Pardon?"

"Sandwich shop," he continued, pointing the harpoon down to her dress, "That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve," he gestured with the weapon towards the sleeve of her dress, "You wouldn't dress like that for baking".

"Sherlock…" John began, giving him a warning look, knowing just where this was going.

"Thumbnail," he went on, ignoring John as he pointed at Mrs Hudson's fingers, "Tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads, don't we?" he stepped closer to her and sniffed deeply, lowering the harpoon from her and sitting the end on the floor, nodding to himself, "Mmm…'Kasbah Nights'. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree?" Mrs Hudson shifted uncomfortably and Amelia sighed, resisting the urge to hit him, "I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes," he informed her, "It's on the website, you should look it up".

"Please…" Mrs Hudson said, exasperated, her arms crossed across her chest.

Sherlock stepped away from her, leaning his harpoon against the wall beside one of the windows, turning back around to face them, "I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr Chatterjee," he told her, taking no notice of John and Amelia's warning looks, "He's got a wife in Doncaster…" he put on a South Yorkshire accent as he said the name, "…that no one knows about…"

"Sherlock!" John called angrily.

"That's enough, Holmes!" Amelia snapped loudly, glaring at him.

He held up his hands, wiggling his fingers, ignoring them, "Well, no one except me".

Mrs Hudson shook her head, her eyes wide, "I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't," she said quickly, trying to hide just how upset she was as she hurried over to the door, and slammed it behind her.

Sherlock flopped himself onto the sofa, bringing his knees up as he wrapped his arms around them, rocking back and forth, looking like a sulky child. He didn't even appear to be the slightest bit ashamed by what he had done to Mrs Hudson.

John slammed his newspaper down on the small table beside his chair, "What the bloody hell was all that about?" he demanded, fixing Sherlock with an angry look.

"You had no right to do that, Holmes," Amelia said furiously, only just holding herself back from slapping him.

Sherlock sighed, not looking at them, "You don't understand," he muttered.

John pointed over to the closed door, "Go after her and apologise," he ordered.

He finally looked up, frowning at him, "Apologise?" John nodded, making him sigh again, shaking his head, "Oh, John, I envy you so much," he commented.

He eyed him carefully, "You envy me?" he asked after a moment.

"You mind, it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!" he suddenly shouted, almost frantically.

Amelia rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache coming on, "And we just solved one," she reminded him tiredly, "Remember? You harpooned a dead pig and I tried desperately not to get blood on my clothing".

Sherlock made an annoyed sound and jumped up in the air, before landing back on the sofa with his feet on the floor, "That was this morning!" he replied, frustrated as he began erratically drumming his fingers on the couch and stomping his feet, "When's the next one?"

John shook his head at him, "Nothing on the website?" he questioned, hoping desperately that there would be something.

He stood and stepped over to the dining table, grabbing his laptop, practically shoving it into John's hands, his blog already on the screen, "'Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes,'" he began, remembering the message as he moved over to the window, "'I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help?'"

He glanced over to him, confused, "…Bluebell?" he said slowly.

"It's a rabbit," Amelia clarified, finding the request quite sweet.

"Oh," he nodded.

"Ah, but there's more!" Sherlock said sarcastically, "Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous…" he put on a high pitched voice, doing an impression of a little girl, "'Like a fairy,' according to little Kristy; then the next morning, Bluebell was gone!" he mock exclaimed, gesturing with his hands as John eyed him slightly. Amelia was too busy trying not to laugh, once again wishing she had thought to use her phone to record this, "Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry…" he paused and his expression changed, growing more intense, "Ah!" he gasped, his eyes lighting up, "What am I saying? This is brilliant!" he pointed at them, very serious, "Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit".

Amelia stared at him for a long moment, trying to work out if he was joking, "Sherlock, you are kidding, right?" she asked, slightly nervously, wondering if he had finally snapped.

"It's this, or Cluedo," he answered.

"Ah, no," John said at once, his eyes widening at the very thought.

"No way in hell," Amelia shook her head quickly, shivering just thinking about the last and only time they had ever played the game. She had ended up getting a migraine the last time they had made that mistake.

John nodded in agreement with her, closing the laptop's lid and standing as Sherlock looked back to them, seeming surprised and confused by their reaction, "We are never playing that game again," he added, stepping over to the dining table.

Sherlock frowned at them, "Why not?" he questioned.

He sat the laptop back on the table and looked at him, "Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that's why".

"Well, it was the only possible solution," he argued.

"That's not how the game works, Sherlock," Amelia tried to explain as John retook his seat, "It's not in the rules…"

"Then the rules are wrong!"

The doorbell rang and they all froze, looking at each other.

John held up a finger, "Single ring," he remarked.

Sherlock looked towards the living room door, his eyes lighting up, "Maximum pressure just under the half second," he determined.

"Client," they finished in unison, exchanging broad smiles.

….

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, having swapped his dressing gown for his black blazer, while Amelia and John both sat on dining chairs placed near Sherlock. Before them, sitting in John's chair, was their client, Henry Knight, looking rather nervous, his eyes fixed on the TV screen where a documentary that he had brought and insisted that they watch was playing. Sherlock already seemed bored by the program.

Images of a large, grey rocks appeared on the screen, some stacked on top of each other with grass growing around them, "'_Dartmoor_,'" a female voiceover started as more scenery was shown, "'_It's always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here, something very real_?'" the image changed, showing 'keep out' signs, before switching across to show the female presenter walking slowly towards the camera along a narrow road, "'_Because Dartmoor's also home to one of the government's most secret operations_…'" she continued.

Sherlock's eyes darted from Henry, still seeming engrossed by the recording, and back to the screen, only appearing to be half paying attention to what was happening on the screen. Amelia didn't blame him, she would have preferred to have heard all of this from the client.

Another sign flashed across the screen, appearing to be something to do with the military with the word 'Baskerville' written across it in large, bold print.

"'…_the chemical and biological weapons research centre_," the voiceover went on, showing more images over a large, high fence, reminding Amelia of a prison, "'_Which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there've been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments_,'" the presenter appeared again, looking very seriously at the camera, "'_Genetic mutations, animals grown for the battle field. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside_?'"

The footage switched to an indoor scene with Henry sitting before the camera, looking down at his hands clenched together in his lap. A caption at the bottom of the screen appeared, reading 'Henry Knight, Grimpen resident, "'_I was just a kid_,'" he said to the off-screen interviewer, swallowing slightly, "'_It_…_it was on the moor_…'" a child's drawing of a giant, scary dog with red eyes and large teeth popped up on the screen, followed by the caption, 'Henry's drawing (aged nine),' "'_It was dark, but I know what I saw_,'" Henry appeared again, looking up from his hands, sounding certain, "'_I know what killed my Father'_".

Sherlock sighed heavily, picking up the remote beside him and turned off the TV before looking at Henry, who was blinking slightly, "What did you see?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Oh," Henry pointed weakly back to the screen, "Oh, I…I was just about to say".

"Yes, in a TV interview," he nodded, bringing the tips of his fingers together beneath his chin, "I prefer to do my own editing".

"Yes," he said, still seeming slightly taken aback, "Sorry, yes, of course," he smiled slightly apologetically, glancing at John and Amelia, reaching inside his coat, "'Scuse me," he withdrew a paper napkin and wiped his nose on it.

"Don't worry about it," Amelia told him gently, seeing that he was clearly still very upset. His eyes were red rimmed, as if he had recently been crying and he didn't look as if he had slept very well recently, "Just take your time".

"But quite quickly," Sherlock added at once, watching Henry closely over his fingertips.

"Sherlock," she muttered, sighing slightly as she cast him a quick, sharp look.

Henry lowered the napkin, taking a deep breath as he seemed to prepare himself, "Do you know Dartmoor?" he questioned, looking between Sherlock and Amelia.

"No," Sherlock replied, and Amelia shook her head.

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of…bleak but beautiful".

"Mmm, not interested," he said, waving his hands dismissively, Amelia and John cast him sideways looks, "Moving on".

"We used to go for walks," Henry told them sadly, glancing down at the napkin in his hand, fiddling with the corner of it, "After my Mum died, my Dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor".

"Yes, good. Skipping to the night that your Dad was violently killed…"

"Holmes!" Amelia hissed furiously, wishing she could hit him for such an insensitive manner of asking someone who was clearly still very traumatised by the advent in question. She only just held herself back, knowing that it was hardly a professional thing to do around a client.

Sherlock sighed heavily, rolling his eyes at her, not the slightest bit concerned, "Where did that happen?" he turned back to Henry.

"There's a place," Henry explained, a small frown crossing his face, "It's…it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow," Sherlock raised his eyebrows, as if to say, 'and…?' "That's an ancient name for the Devil," he finished softly, looking at them as if expecting them to be frightened.

"So?" he asked, shrugging.

John paused in his note taking, glancing over to Henry, "Did you see the Devil that night?" he questioned, trying not to sound too dubious.

Henry looked over to him, nodding his head, a haunted expression crossing his face, "Yes," he whispered, "It was huge," he began, his voice returning to normal level, "Coal black fur, with red eyes," he grew slightly tearful as he looked away from them, tears brimming in his eyes, "It got him," he breathed, "Tore at him, tore him apart," Sherlock and Amelia watched him closely, listening intently, "I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wondering on the moor," he swallowed, looking back to them, shaking his head, "My Dad's body was never found".

"Hmm," John hummed thoughtfully, glancing across to Sherlock and Amelia, "Red eyes, coal black fur, enormous…dog?" he suggested, "Wolf?"

"Or a genetic experiment," Sherlock commented in a mock whisper that they could all hear, looking away, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. Amelia cleared her throat, trying very hard not to smile.

Henry frowned at them deeply, noticing their expressions, "Are you laughing at me, Mr Holmes?" he eyed them both, "Miss Wilson?"

"Why, are you joking?" Sherlock resorted, looking back to him, straight faced.

"Not at all, Mr Knight," Amelia told him at the same time, sending Sherlock a look when she realised what he had said.

Henry looked between them, opening and closing his mouth for a moment, "My Dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville," he informed them, "About the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him," his expression turned harder, "At least the TV people took me seriously".

"And, I assume, did wonders for Devon tourism," Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

John shifted uncomfortably as Amelia sighed, rubbing her forehead, "Yeah…" he glanced at Sherlock before turning back to Henry, leaning towards him in his chair. Sherlock looked away, rolling his eyes, realising he was trying the 'gentle approach,' "Henry, whatever _did_ happen to your Father, it was twenty years ago," he said gently, "Why come to us now?"

Henry moved closer to the edge of his chair, turning back to Sherlock, still toying with the edge of the napkin, "I'm not sure you can help me, Mr Holmes, since you find it all so funny," he stood, moving towards the door.

"Tell us about what happened last night," Amelia tried quickly, feeling guilty for almost laughing, not wishing to see the man go if there was a chance that they might be able to help. Though, she highly doubted there was any real monster involved.

John frowned, glancing at her, "Why, what happened last night?"

Henry stopped halfway towards the door, turning back towards them, his eyes wide, "How…how do you know?" he asked, staring at her, stunned.

"Logic and observing," she answered, shrugging slightly, "Why else would you have come here, twenty years after your Father's death, unless something had happened last night and triggered the memory?" she raised her eyebrows at him as he continued to stare at her.

John shifted in his chair, glancing warily at Sherlock with a small sigh, realising what was going to happen next.

And just as expected, Sherlock opened his mouth, "You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning," he began, talking fast, drawing Henry's attention to him, "You had a disappointed breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, _extremely_ anxious to have your first cigarette of the day," he glanced at the empty chair before him, "Sit down, Mr Knight, and do please smoke," he told him, looking back up to him, smirking, "I'd be delighted".

"And that didn't sound creepy at all," Amelia muttered to herself, shaking her head.

Henry stared at him for a long moment, his mouth hanging open as he glanced at John, who looked away from him and sighed heavily. Slowly, he moved back over to the chair and sat down, reaching inside his coat pocket, "How on Earth did you notice all that?" he frowned.

"It's not important…" John started, trying to cut Sherlock off before he even started, but it was useless.

Sherlock had already launched into his explanation, "Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked…" he nodded to the two, round paper holes that where stuck to Henry's coat.

"Not now, Sherlock," he tried again, sounding tired.

"Oh, _please_," he practically begged, sounding like a child. Amelia smiled faintly, "I've been cooped up here for ages".

"You're just showing off," he frowned, annoyed.

"Of _course_. I _am_ a show off. That's what we do".

"Unless you're willing to tie him up and gag him, nothing's going to stop him, John," Amelia sighed, shaking her head as John fell back against his chair, looking resigned.

Sherlock threw John a smug look, practically daring him to even try before turning back to Henry, his eyes moving to rest on the napkin in his hands, "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee," he nodded to it, "The strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve," he shrugged slightly, "Cooked breakfast, or the nearest thing those trains can manage".

"A sandwich, I would say," Amelia remarked, making a small face at the thought, "No doubt quite soggy and missing half the contents. You might as well have just eaten the breed".

Henry stared at them, amazed and shocked, "How did you know it was disappointing?" he asked, sniffing slightly.

"Have you ever had a decent meal on one of those trains?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. He tilted his head in agreement.

"The girl…" Sherlock continued, catching their attention once more, "Female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin," his eyes moved back down to the napkin, "I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later, after she got off, I imagine, you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers".

"You've tried to go over the last four numbers yourself in a different pen," Amelia added, noticing that the original numbers were written in blue, while the last four were in black, the handwriting slightly different from the blue writing, "You liked her and wanted to keep the number, but you've since decided that she's not really your type, as indicated when you used the napkin to blow your nose just before".

"Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers…" Sherlock's eyes landed on Henry's fingers, still clutching the napkin with a stunned expression on his face. He eyed the brownish, yellow marks around his fingers and nails, "Your _shaking_ fingers. I know the signs," he narrowed his eyes, seeming almost transfixed, "No chance to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before your got a cab here," he dragged his eyes away and glanced at his watch, "It's just after nine fifteen," he looked back to him, "You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty six a.m. You got the first possible one, so something important must have happened last night. Am I…" Amelia cleared her throat pointedly, making him sigh, sending her quick, annoyed look, "Are_ we_ wrong?" he corrected.

Henry stared at them, his mouth hanging open slightly as he inhaled a shaky breath, "No," he answered, and Sherlock smiled smugly. John sighed to himself, taking a sip from his cup, "You're right," he nodded, amazed, "You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick," he glanced at John, who raised his eyebrows.

"It's my job," Sherlock said, leaning forward in his chair towards the man, his gaze fixed intently on him, "Now shut up and smoke," he ordered.

Amelia blinked slightly, casting Sherlock a mildly concerned look as John frowned over at him. Henry, still looking quite awestruck, reached inside his coat and withdrew a cigarette and lighter, moving to light it.

John cleared his throat, looking down to his note book, "Um, Henry," he began, flickering through his notes, "You parents both died and you were…what, seven years old?"

Henry took a moment to answer, taking his first drag from his cigarette, before exhaling it. Sherlock stood, his eyes fixed on the smoke, and moved towards him as Amelia cast him a strange look, "I know," he nodded to John, "That…my…" he trailed off as Sherlock leaned into the smoke drifting in the air from the cigarette and took a long sniff, breathing it in deeply before settling himself back in his chair, breathing out slowly with a satisfied look.

Amelia stared at him, unable to tell if she should feel even more concerned or amused. She had tried smoking in her late teens, only once and had hated it. She had almost made herself sick coughing and refused to touch another cigarette after that, something she was very glad for now, especially after witnessing this little display.

John tried very hard to ignore Sherlock, not wanting to encourage him further, "That must be a…" he couldn't help glancing at his flatmate, trying to remember what he was saying to Henry, "…quite a trauma," he turned back to the other man, "Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this…" Henry exhaled another lungful and Sherlock leaped forward again, breathing the smoke in nosily, making John pause, waiting for him to sit back down before going on, "…to account for it?" he finished.

Henry pulled his eyes off Sherlock, looking over to John, "That's what Doctor Mortimer says," he informed him.

"Who?" he questioned.

"His therapist," Sherlock and Amelia said in unison, knowing that someone with his history would surely have a therapist, or someone like that helping him.

"My therapist," Henry told him at the same time, making the three of them look at each other.

"Obviously," Sherlock commented, seeming to be growing bored again, not bothering to attempt to exhale the smoke now.

He looked over to John, "Louise Mortimer," he explained to him as John quickly wrote it down in his notes, "She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my daemons".

"What exactly happened last night, Henry?" Amelia asked, trying to make her voice sound gentle, "You went to Dewer's Hollow last night under the advice from your therapist, and then the next morning you're seeking the services of detectives?" she frowned slightly, looking at him curiously, "Just what did you see last night that changed everything?"

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, exasperated, "Yes, If I wanted poetry I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends," he cut across him, "Much funnier," John took a deep breath, trying to fight against the urge to hit his flatmate, "What did you_ see_?" he questioned.

"Footprints," he answered after a moment, "On the exact spot where I saw my Father torn apart".

Sherlock sighed, still looking annoyed as he leaned back into his chair, "Man's or woman's?" John asked.

"Neither. They were…"

"Is that it?" Sherlock interrupted him, "Nothing else? Footprints. Is that all?"

Henry frowned slightly, "Yes, but they were…" he tried to explain.

"No, sorry," he cut him off again, shaking his head, "Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring!" he announced, giving him a fake smile, "Goodbye, Mr Knight. Thank you for smoking".

He stared at him, his frown deepening, "No, but what about the footprints?" he reminded him, confused by his apparent lack of interest.

"Oh, they're probably paw prints," he remarked, waving it off, shaking his head, "Could be anything, therefore nothing," he leaned forward in his chair and wiggled his fingers at Henry, nodding over towards the living room door, "Off to Devon with you, have a cream tea on me," he stood, buttoning his blazer as headed towards the kitchen.

"Mr Holmes," Henry called after him as he turned in his chair to look at him, "They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Sherlock stopped dead in the doorway of the kitchen as Amelia cast Henry a quick, thoughtful look, finding something about the way he had worded that statement curious. Why say 'hound' when 'dog' would have done just as well?

Slowly, Sherlock turned back around to face them, eyeing Henry closely, "Say that again," he told him.

"I found the footprints, they were…"

"No," Amelia shook her head, cutting him off, a small frown on her face, "He means exactly what you just said, your exact words from a moment ago," she clarified for him, "He wants you to repeat them".

Henry frowned, seeming very confused by the request as he took a moment to remember just what he had said, "Mr Holmes," he repeated slowly, "They were the footprints of a gigantic…hound".

Sherlock slowly raised his head, seeming satisfied by something as the corner of his mouth twitched. Amelia and John exchanged a look, feeling as if they had missed something, Amelia just couldn't pin-point what, yet? Surely it wasn't just the wording, though, she did find that a little strange. There was something else, something she had missed.

"I'll take the case," he informed the room.

John blinked at him, startled as his head snapped back up from his notes, "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock ignored him, bringing his hands together and lifting his fingers up to rest just under his chin, moving to pace the living room, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said to Henry without looking at him, "It's very promising".

"Okay, I'm missing something here," Amelia admitted, frowning at him, trying to work out just what it was she had overlooked. Something on the video, perhaps?

"No, no, no, sorry, _what_?" John stared at him, pointing his pen at him, "A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they're very promising?" he shook his head.

He paused, turning to look at him, "It's _nothing _to do with footprints," he sighed, "As ever, John, you weren't_ listening_," he glanced at Amelia, "You can I understand missing it, you have no military connection".

"Well, that makes me feel slightly better," she commented, relieved that she hadn't missed something that should have been obvious to her. That would have simply been embarrassing as a detective.

He nodded, raising his eyebrows at John, "Baskerville, ever heard of it?" he asked him.

"Vaguely," John replied, nodding, "It's very hush-hush".

Amelia thought it over, when she remembered 'Baskerville' was mentioned in the video, some sort of top secret, scientific military base. Well, that made a lot more sense, though, she could have kicked herself for not making the connection sooner. Not that it was very surprising that she hadn't, like Sherlock had said, she had never had much contact with anything relating to the military in the past, most of her past cases had been brought to her mainly from spouses believing that their partner was cheating, or missing person cases. It wasn't until she had meet Lestrade that she had actually started getting involved in murder cases, something she had wanted to work on right from the very start of her career.

"Sounds like a good place to start," Sherlock remarked, lowering his hands back down to his sides.

"Ah!" Henry's eyes lit up hopefully, delighted, "You'll come down, then?" he looked up to Sherlock.

"No, I can't leave London at the moment. Far too busy. Don't worry, putting my best man onto it," he stepped over to John, patting his arm before moving back to the middle of the room, "Always rely on John to send me the relevant data, as he never understands a word of it himself".

John stared at him as Henry looked very confused between the two of them, "What are you talking about, 'you're busy?'" he scoffed, shaking his head, "You don't have a case!" he exclaimed, pointing at him, "A minute ago you were complaining…"

"Bluebell, John!" he interrupted him quickly, "I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" he glanced at Henry, saying in a secretive voice, raising his eyebrows, "NATO's in uproar".

Henry frowned deeply, still looking between them, "Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" he questioned, trying to understand just what was going on. He turned to Amelia, "Does that mean _you're_ coming?"

Sherlock put on a mock regretful look, shaking his head at him sadly, "Oh, I couldn't possibly work this case without Amelia," he said before Amelia could answer, making her raise her eyebrows at him, almost scoffing aloud.

"Yes, he's lost without me," Amelia agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes, "I don't know how he survived all these years without me to bicker with".

John groaned, sighing heavily as he realised what Sherlock was really after as Sherlock turned back to him, giving him the same mock regretful expression that he had given Henry, "Okay," he nodded, standing as Sherlock's expression turned smug, "Okay," he cleared his throat, walking over to the mantel, and picked up the skull, removing a packet of cigarettes from under it. He tossed the packet over to Sherlock as he sat the skull back down.

Sherlock caught the packet, only to instantly toss it over his shoulder, "I don't need those anymore," he told him brightly, "I'm going to Dartmoor," he turned and headed for the living room door, "You go ahead, Henry. We'll follow later," he called over his shoulder.

Henry jumped onto his feet, looking even more confused than before, staring after him, "Er, sorry, so you _are_ coming?" he asked, frowning at him.

He paused in the doorway, stepping back inside the room, "Twenty year old disappearance, a monstrous hound?" he raised his eyebrows at him, sounding excited as he shot John a pointed look, "I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

And with that, he strolled out of the room, leaving John and Amelia to reassure Henry that they were coming, since he still seemed to be quite confused and unsure about just what was going on.

…

An hour later, after Henry had left, the three of them each left to pack their bags and organise a hire car for them to pick up once they had gotten off at the train station. Sherlock was already insisting on driving, since John couldn't drive and Amelia didn't know the area very well, so there was little argument over who was driving, but that did mean that Amelia was forced to duck down the street to the chemist to pick up some travel sickness tablets. The last time she had travelled for any length of time in the back of a car, and possibly through windy roads, had resulted in her getting violently ill.

Once she had returned, she quickly set to work packing a few long sleeved tops and jumpers into her suitcase, along with a couple of pairs of jeans, not bothering to pack any dresses or skirts. She didn't imagine that they would be very practical clothing choices for this case, same with heels. Aside from the boots she was wearing, the only other shoes she was taking were flat and enclosed, and she finally had an excuse to be able to wear the gumboots she had bought a year ago.

She had also packed a small, travel chess board to take along with them during the trip, hoping that she might be able to talk Sherlock into a game or two on the train trip. They had played chess a few times before, all of which had ended in her losing and Sherlock smiling smugly while she whined about it, though, the last time they had played he had reluctantly admitted that she was starting to get better. She had managed to hold her own for twenty minutes before losing.

Once everything was packed, she doubled checked that she had everything that she might need. She was expecting that the case wouldn't last longer than a week, otherwise she was really going to need to find a washing machine while they were there, but she doubted it would take that long. Four days, at the most, was her guess.

Satisfied that she had everything, she zipped the case up and headed back through her flat, rolling the case behind her, making sure to switch of lights as she went. Below her, in the café, she could faintly hear what sounded like shouting, but she couldn't make out who or what they were saying. She paused, trying to hear, but gave up after a moment and continued on her way back through to John and Sherlock's landing.

She quickly ducked back into their living room to grab her coat, scarf, and handbag, pulling the coat on and wrapping the scarf around her neck, while slipping the handbag's strap over her shoulder, just as Sherlock stepped into the room.

"Where's your bag?" she asked, frowning slightly at him as she noticed his empty hands, already wrapped up in his coat and scarf.

"John has them," Sherlock replied, smirking slightly.

"I ought to have known you would have him carry your bag, along with his".

As if on cue, John appeared in the living room doorway, his hands full with two bags and a slightly annoyed look that he sent at his flat mate, "The cabs here," he told them.

Sherlock moved forward, and much to Amelia's surprise, grabbed the handle of her suitcase, heading off out into the landing and off down the stairs before she could even say 'thank you'.

"Typical," John muttered, adjusting his grip on the bags in his hands.

"You know, I do wish he would make up his mind and decided whether he was going to act like a gentlemen or an arrogant idiot," she complained quietly to John, following after Sherlock down the stairs, "I'm convinced he does this on purpose, just so he can annoy you and surprise me. It's frustrating, I never know which side is going to come out next".

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Sherlock already having disappeared outside, Amelia pulled the door open and held it open for John, closing it behind her as she stepped out onto the street. They stepped over to where a cab was waiting by the curb, Sherlock standing beside the open back door as the sound of Mrs Hudson shouting furiously inside the café reached them. Amelia realised that that must have been what she had heard upstairs in her flat, since it was positioned above the shop.

"…cruise together!" Mrs Hudson was shouting at Mr Chatterjee, "You had _no_ intention of taking me on it…!" she threw something and it missed the man, hitting the glass door heavily and bouncing off, all the while still shouting.

"Oh!" John winced at the sound of the object hitting the window, recoiling back slightly, "Looks like Mrs Hudson finally got to the wife in Doncaster," he sighed.

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed, watching the entire scene with an almost amused expression, "Wait 'til she finds out about the one in Islamabad".

"Not to mention the girlfriend in the Philippines," Amelia added as John smiled slightly, wincing at the sound of all the shouting.

"Oh, they broke up," Sherlock informed her, glancing across to her, "She found out about the one in Spain".

She laughed, shaking her head, amazed, "Goodness, how on Earth has he got so many woman chasing him? I'm certainly missing something".

He smirked, moving back from the cab's door, letting her slide into the back, followed by John, before he went after him, closing the door behind him, "Paddington Station, please," he instructed the driver.

_**And finally, we've got another chapter. I didn't realise just how much time had passed since the last update, I apologise for that. Also, a late Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to everyone. And, as always, Amelia's outfit is on my Tumblr and profile. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

_**Guest reviews:**_

_**KD: **__**I'm glad you liked it, and I was actually a little worried about writing that scene. I was concerned it might take away from Sherlock, but I'm glad I wrote it now. I don't think it would have been in Amelia's character to have not said or done something after what Irene tried to do. Yep, and Sherlock's made the first step. Very exciting. Thanks for the review :)**_

_**Guest: **__**Yep, we're finally starting to get somewhere, it's certainly taken long enough. I'm glad you liked it, thanks for the review :)**_

_**GuestCat: **__**It should be very exciting when we finally get to that stage. I'm so glad you like it, and I will try to update more often. My Doctor Who story keeps me pretty busy, so I'll have to find a way to balance both stories more effectively. Thanks for the review :)**_


	7. Chapter 7The Hound of Baskerville,Part 2

_**The Hound of Baskerville, Part 2**_

The train trip was just as boring as Amelia had expected it to be, though, she was very glad that she had thought to bring the small chess board with her as she and Sherlock spent the first half of the journey playing against each other, while John glanced up every now and then from his open laptop, shaking his head in amusement and exasperation as both his travelling companions grew more and more competitive as the games went on. In the end, Amelia was forced to admit defeat after coming so close to winning the fifth game, only to be blind sighted by Sherlock's winning move that she still couldn't figure out how he had managed to accomplish without her knowledge.

After that, the two detectives decided to amuse themselves by doing their favourite past time: people watching. They spent the rest of the trip quietly deducing the people around them, while John sunk lower into his seat, wishing he hadn't taken the window seat as he tried to ignore what they were doing. He hated when they started doing that in public, and it was even worse when they turned their attention onto him and started deducing him after growing bored with the strangers around them.

Eventually, after having a rather horrible, soggy lunch the train reached they're stop and the three of them grabbed their bags, stepping off the train. They left the station and walked across the road to where the car hiring place was, getting the keys to their car, which turned out to be a Land Rover Jeep. They put their bags into the back of the car and Sherlock took a seat behind the wheel, John in the front passenger seat, while Amelia climbed into the middle of the back seat, making sure that she could still see the road, even if her travel sickness tablets were still working. She really didn't want to take any chances.

They set off through the country roads, John acting as the navigator as Amelia enjoyed the scenery of opened fields and hills covered in green grass surrounding them, reminded fondly of Ireland. She hadn't gone home in years, she didn't have any living relatives that lived there to visits and there was no other reason for her to go back, unless it was to go on a holiday, and even then she hadn't gone on a holiday since her honeymoon. But she did miss Ireland, and while she did love London, Ireland was always going to be her home.

It only took them a short time before they reached the outskirts of the village and they drove down a short road, coming to a stop by a cluster of large rocks that overlocked a large, white industrial-like building in the distance with a high, barbed wired fence running around the boarder of the property. Sherlock got out of the car and climbed onto one of the rocks, casting quite a dramatic figure while Amelia and John stood at the foot the rocks, John consulting a map.

John glanced up from the map, pointing over towards the buildings in the distance, "There's Baskerville," he informed them, glancing back to the map before turning, pointing back behind them to a row of thick trees. Sherlock and Amelia followed his gesture, "That's Grimpen Village," he turned back to face the buildings, pointing over towards a heavily wooden area beside Baskerville, "So that must be…yeah, it's Dewer's Hollow".

Sherlock frowned slightly at something in the distance, "What's that?" he called down to them, pointing over to where a large section of empty land was between them and Baskerville, sectioned off with another high fence.

"Hmm?" he hummed, lifting his binoculars hanging on a strap around his neck up to his eyes, looking more closely at the land Sherlock had pointed out, "Minefield?" he suggested, "Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out".

Amelia winced slightly, "Well, that's reassuring," she muttered, thinking that she might have underestimated just how quickly they would be able to find answers. This certainly wasn't going to be an easy case to solve.

…

The three of them got back in the car and continued driving to Grimpen Village, which was only a small place with a few, pretty stone cottages lining the streets, a corner shop, and a pub called the 'Cross Keys Inn'. A group of tourists and their tour guide, a young man, seemed to have returned after a walk and stopped outside the pub, just as they drove passed, parking around the corner of the pub.

They opened their doors, climbing out of the car, taking a look around as John looked curiously at the group of tourists as the tour guide spoke with the group, "…three times a day, tell your friends," the man was saying brightly to the group, standing beside a sign with a picture of a large wolf painted on it, along with the words, 'Beware The Hound,' written above the picture, "Tell anyone!" they walked passed the group, Amelia's eyes lingering on the sign, "Don't be strangers, and remember…stay away from the moor at night if you value your lives!" he warned them jokingly, making the group chuckle.

Sherlock adjusted his coat, popping the collar up around his neck as they headed towards the pub's door. He noticed John watching him with a raised eyebrow, "I'm cold," he defended himself, failing to look casual as he tried to shrug.

John looked away, rolling his eyes as Amelia covered her laugh up with a cough, quite amused, though, her amusement faded into disappointment a she noticed that a sign by the door as they entered that said that it was a vegetarian establishment. Well, there went any hopes of having roast lamb for dinner.

They entered the pub, taking in the low ceiled space and traditional slate flooring with a large, dark wooden bar immediately facing them with bottles of alcohol on display on a shelf behind it. John moved to the bar to organise their rooms and buy them drinks with a large, older man behind the bar, while Amelia and Sherlock took a look around the place.

"Ah, hello," John greeted the man, giving him a friendly smile, "Three rooms under Watson?" he said to him, reaching inside his pocket for his wallet, pulling out some money for their drinks, turning around to watch his friends as he leaned against the bar.

The man nodded, quickly flipping open a book before him, "Let's see…" he said slowly, running his eyes down the list of bookings, "Oh, yes, Watson," he smiled slightly, finding their rooms. He turned around and grabbed two sets of keys off a set of hooks behind the bar, turning back to John with an apologetic look, "Er, sorry we couldn't do a double for you boys," he told him, giving him the keys.

John turned around, taking the keys, "That's fine," he sighed slightly, knowing that he could hardly ask Amelia to share with him or Sherlock, no matter how friendly they might be now. He meet the man's eyes, quickly adding as he noticed the knowing, smug look on the man's face, "We…we're not…" he began before shaking his head, giving up, realising that there was no use trying to explain as he held out the money to him, "There you go".

"Oh, ta," the man took the money, "I'll just get your change".

"Ta," he nodded as the man moved over to the till. Amelia joined him at the bar, just as he noticed a receipt for a large order of meat sitting on the bench among a pile of different receipts. He frowned at it, glancing at Amelia.

"How curious," she murmured thoughtfully to him, "I thought this was supposed to be a vegetarian restaurant".

John hummed in agreement, casting a quick look over towards the manager to make sure he wasn't looking before swiftly tearing the meat receipt from the spike it was attached to, slipping it inside his pocket.

The man moved back to them, holding out a handful of change to John, "There you go," he smiled at him as he took it.

"I couldn't help noticing the map of the moor," John remarked casually, putting the change away in his pocket, "A skull and crossbones?"

"Oh that, aye," the man said quietly, his smile disappearing as he moved away slightly to fiddle with some glasses, not seeming overly keen to continue the discussion any further. Amelia eyed him curiously.

"Pirates?" he suggested jokingly.

"Eh…no, no," he shook his head, moving back towards them with a tight smile, "The Great Grimpen Minefield, they call it," he informed them.

"A minefield?" Amelia repeated, putting on a startled expression as she glanced at John, who tried to look alarmed, but was failing quite badly. She looked back to the manger with mock troubled tone of voice, "Well, they certainly didn't put that in the holiday brochure, did they?"

"It's not what you think," the man said hurriedly, looking back and forth between the two, almost as if he was afraid that they would walk out after that little discovery, "It's the Baskerville testing site," he explained, "It's been going for eighty-odd years. I've not sure anyone really knows what's there any more".

Amelia nodded absently, glancing over her shoulder to Sherlock as something on one of the tables in the room seemed to catch his attention, pausing to examine it more closely, but he was clearly paying attention to everything that was being said.

John raised his eyebrows at the man as he started to pour a drink, "Explosives?" he asked.

The man shook his head, "Oh, not just explosives," he replied, glancing up to him again, "Break into that place and, if you're _lucky_, you just get blown up, so they say…" he said grimly, "In case you're planning on a nice wee stroll".

"Ta," John smiled, giving him a nod, exchanging a quick look with Amelia, "I'll remember that".

"Aye. No, it buggers up tourism a bit, so thank God for the demon hound!" he chuckled slightly, moving around from behind to bar, heading over to clear some glasses off a nearby table, glancing back to them, "Did you see that show, that documentary?"

"Funnily enough, we did," Amelia replied, making sure not to go into details.

He picked up two glasses and turned back to them, "Aye," he commented, "God bless Henry Knight and his monster from hell".

"Ever seen it, the hound?" John questioned, and Sherlock glanced over to them from where he was standing in the open doorway.

"Me?" he shook his head, looking over towards Sherlock, "No," he pointed passed Sherlock and out the door towards where the young tour guide was standing outside, talking to someone on his phone, his sign hanging over his shoulder, "Fletcher has," he told them, making Amelia and Sherlock looking thoughtfully to the young man, "He runs the walks, the Monster Walks for the tourists, you know? He's seen it".

"That's handy," John remarked, glancing back to the man, "For trade".

Sherlock began to head outside and Amelia quickly followed, both realising that there was little else that the pub and its owner could tell them that they didn't already know. Fletcher had walked away from the pub, still talking on his phone as he took a seat on a table just across the road from the pub, while Sherlock grabbed a half-drunk pint off a nearby empty table, casting Fletch a quick look before glancing at Amelia.

"Take off your scarf and undo the top three buttons of your shirt," he instructed her quietly, turning back to her with an expecting expression.

"Excuse me?" Amelia blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden, rather unusual request.

He sighed heavily, a frustrated expression crossing his face briefly, "You are, by most people's standards considered to be an attractive woman," he said in a forced patient tone of voice, "And you can use that to…"

She quickly held up her hand, struggling to keep her voice low, "Sherlock, just stop right there," she told him firmly, fixing him with a sharp look, feeling slightly insulted that he would even suggest something like that, "I will _not_ use my body to manipulate that man, that's not how I work. Granted, there have been a few instances in which I have had to…charm my way, but that was in a club scene, this is completely different".

"It would save time…"

"Sherlock," she hissed, giving him a look that made even him close his mouth, giving her a nod.

They walked across the road, heading towards Fletcher, both noticing as they approached him that he had a copy of the Racing Post folded up in his trouser pocket, clearly someone who enjoyed making a bet or two here and there.

"Yeah…no," Fletcher was saying into the phone, "All right? Right. Take care. Bye," he ended the call, just as they reached him.

"Mind if we join you?" Sherlock asked him, trying to make himself sound polite. Fletcher looked up to them, seeming slightly surprised, before he shrugged. They took a seat across from him, Sherlock sitting his stolen pint down on the table beside him, casting a quick look around as he leaned closer towards the man, "It's not true, is it?" he said to him, lowering his voice, "You haven't actually seen this…hound thing," he broke into a friendly smile.

He eyed them suspiciously for a moment, "You from the papers?"

"Oh, no," Amelia shook her head, giving him a friendly smile, "We're just tourists, bit of a mystery buff myself," she shrugged, trying hard not to find her own little joke amusing, "So have you seen it?" she tried to make herself look eager, "_Really_?"

"Maybe," he replied, shrugging casually again, looking away from them.

"Got any proof?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, his nice act dropping slightly as his expression grew intent.

He looked back over his shoulder to them, "Why would I tell you if I did?" he scoffed, "'Scuse me," he moved to stand, just as John joined them, carrying a half drunk pint and a lemonade that he put in front of Amelia.

"I called Henry…" he began to tell them, dropping onto the bench across the table from the two detectives, not seeming to be surprised that they were talking to Fletcher.

"Bet's off, John," Sherlock cut across him quickly, making him blink in confusion, and Fletcher pause to look back at them, "Sorry".

John blinked at him, completely confused, "What?" he glanced at Amelia, who hid her smile behind her glass as she took a sip of her drink.

"Bet?" Fletcher said curiously, looking between Sherlock and John.

Sherlock checked his watch, ignoring them, "My plan needs darkness," he remarked, glancing up towards the grey, cloudy sky, "Reckon we've got another half an hour of light…"

"Wait, wait," Fletcher interrupted, frowning at them, "What bet?"

"Oh, it was nothing," Amelia said casually, waving him off, "Sherlock just bet John fifty quid that you couldn't prove to us that you had actually seen this hound".

John narrowed his eyes slightly before he slowly caught on to what they were doing, "Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could," he nodded, glancing over to Sherlock.

Fletcher broke into a smile, laughing slightly smugly as he turned to point at Sherlock, "Well, you're gonna lose your money, mate".

"Yeah?" Sherlock asked mockingly.

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind, couldn't make much out…"

"I see," he muttered, more to himself then to Fletcher, glancing at Amelia and John, "No witnesses, I suppose…"

"No, but…"

"Never are".

"Wait…" he pulled his phone out his pocket and held it up for them to see, "There," he smirked smugly at them as they leaned closer to the screen to see a photo of some sort of dark, furry creature with four legs that resembled a very large dog, but it was very hard to make out as it was surrounded by trees and bushes, making it impossible to determine exactly what it was.

Sherlock scoffed at the image, "Is that it?"

Amelia raised her eyebrows at the picture, looking unimpressed, "Is that the only proof you have?" she said, shaking her head as Fletcher showed the picture to John.

"Sorry, John," Sherlock added, lifting his stolen pint to his mouth, "I win".

"Wait, wait," Fletcher told them quickly, making Sherlock pause, "That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know, to the Hollow. Gives them a…" he paused, looking away from them, "…bad sort of feeling".

"Ooh!" he mocked sarcastically, "Is it haunted?" he laughed, rolling his eyes at him, sitting his stolen glass back down on the table, "Is that supposed to convince me?"

"Nah, don't be stupid," he shook his head, looking slightly annoyed, "Nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there, something from Baskerville, escaped".

Sherlock didn't even bother to try to hide his sceptical snigger, "A clone?" he suggested mockingly, "A super dog?"

"A radioactive dog?" Amelia added, unable to stop herself, trying hard not to burst out laughing. It was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Maybe," Fletcher replied, shrugging as John almost chocked on his drink at Amelia's remark, "God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water. I wouldn't trust 'em as far as I could spit".

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at him, "Is that the best you've got?" he nodded to his phone with the picture still on it.

Fletcher hesitated for a moment, looking unsure on whether or not he should reply as he slipped his phone inside his pocket before turning back to them reluctantly, "I had a mate once who worked for the MOD," he began, lowering his voice, "One weekend we were meant to go fishin' but he never showed up, well, not til' late. When he did, he was white as a sheet," he said, very serious, "I can see him now. 'I've seen things today, Fletcher,' he said, 'that I never wanna see again. _Terrible_ things'. He'd been sent to some secret Army place, Porton Down, maybe, maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else," he leaned slightly closer towards them as they listened intently, "In the labs there, the really _secret_ labs, he said he'd seen….terrible things. 'Rats as big as dogs,' he said, 'and dogs…" he reached into his bag and pulled out a large concreate cast of a dog's paw print, showing it to them, "…dogs the size of horses".

They stared at the cast, their eyes widening slightly as they took in the very big paw print that certainly didn't belong to a domestic dog, or at least not any breed that Amelia had ever seen before. Even Sherlock looked surprised as he took the cast in.

"Wow…" Amelia breathed, giving up trying to work out just how it was possible.

John cleared his throat, dragging his eyes away from the paw print to look at Sherlock, "Er, we did say fifty?" he reminded him, not about to pass on something like that when the chance presented itself.

Fletcher smirked triumphantly, looking very pleased with himself as he watched Sherlock reluctantly pull his wallet from his coat pocket, throwing the cast another look as he withdrew two notes, and handed it across the table to John.

"Ta," John grinned, taking the notes, slipping them inside his pocket before lifting his glass back up to his mouth, taking a sip of his drink.

Sherlock, looking quite sulky now, stood and started to walk away towards where they had parked the Land Rover. Amelia sighed slightly, taking one last mouthful of her drink before hurrying after him, while John finished his drink off completely before following.

…

The sky had started to grow darker and the grey clouds had grown thick, while Sherlock, John, and Amelia drove towards Baskerville, John once again in the front seat and Amelia in the back. John frowned slightly as they approached the complex, noticing a number of armed soldiers walking around the perimeter of the building's with German Shepard's, keeping watch. Amelia was already starting to regret not bringing something a little more professional looking then jeans and boots along with her now, even a simple pencil skirt would have made her feel slightly better.

Sherlock drove the Land Rover through the first gate, driving up to a second gate, this time heavily guarded and covered with barb wire. One of the soldiers stood before the gate and held up a hand, making them come to a complete stop, his finger on the trigger of his very large gun strapped to the front of his chest, ready to use it. He moved away from the gate and walked around to the driver's side window of the car, "Pass, please," he ordered, holding out a hand.

John shifted slightly nervously in his seat, casting the soldier a wary look as Amelia tried to catch his eye in the revision mirror, wanting to try to assure him that Sherlock wouldn't have just driven up to such a high security area without a plan…or, at least she very dearly hoped he hadn't. She never could be completely sure when it came to him.

Sherlock reached inside his pocket and withdrew a pass, handing it through the window to the guard, who took it, "Thank you," he nodded to him, and stepped away to check it as another solider encouraged a sniffer dog to check the outside of the car for explosives.

"You've got ID for Baskerville?" John said quietly to Sherlock, shaking his head in confusion, "How?"

"It's not specific to this place," Sherlock replied just as quietly, watching as the sniffer dog checked the front of the car, "It's my brother's. Access all areas. I, um…" he cleared his throat, avoiding meeting Amelia's knowing, amused eyes in the revision mirror, "…acquired it ages ago, just in case".

"What a polite way to say 'stole,'" Amelia muttered, laughing softly, shaking her head. The last time she stole something from her brother she had been eight and it had been a sweet that he had hidden in his not so secrete stash he kept under a loose floorboard in his bedroom, and even then she had still been wary of just what he might do if he found out.

John sighed heavily, "Brilliant," he grumbled sarcastically.

Sherlock frowned at him, "What's the matter?"

"We'll get caught".

"No we won't," he waved him off before pausing, shrugging, "Well, not yet".

"Caught in five minutes. 'Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base'. 'Really? Great! Come in, kettle's just boiled'. That's if we don't get _shot_".

"Calm down, John," Amelia told him, amused, "Positive thoughts. Everything is going to be fine".

The gate began to slide open and John's eyes widened slightly, shocked as the solider returned to the driver's side window, "Clear," the dog handler announced, finishing his check of the car.

The solider nodded to him and held out the pass to Sherlock, "Thank you very much, sir," he said polity to him.

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled slightly, almost smugly as he took the pass, slipping it into his pocket before putting the car into gear, and starting to ease the car forward through the gate.

"Straight through, sir," the solider instructed him, stepping out of the way of the car.

John shook his head in amazement as they drove off down the road leading up to the complex, "Mycroft's name_ literally_ opens doors!" he laughed.

"I told you, he practically _is_ the British government," Sherlock remarked, rolling his eyes slightly before glancing at his watch, "I reckon we've got about twenty minutes before they realise something's wrong".

Sherlock drove them up towards the complex, passing several Army Jeeps as they went before parking the car before a barrier, and climbing out. A solider came to meet them and started to lead them through the barrier to the entrance of the facility, while Sherlock and Amelia cast their eyes around the area, taking note of several armed soldiers positioned around the buildings, a few standing on the roofs, and even a few who were escorting scientists between buildings.

One of the Jeeps pulled up just ahead of them as they were led towards a large, metal door, and a young corporal opened the door and stepped out, "What is it?" he asked quickly, looking at Sherlock, following after them, "Are we in trouble?"

"'Are we in trouble, _sir_,'" Sherlock corrected sternly, giving him a frown.

"Yes, sir," the corporal said hurriedly, moving to stand in front of them, making them come to a stop before they could reach the entrance, "Sorry, sir".

"You were expecting us?" he eyed him, still using the same stern tone of voice.

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr Holmes," he informed them, glancing at John and Amelia, clasping his hands behind his back, "Corporal Lyons, security," he introduced himself, turning back to Sherlock with a small frown, "_Is_ there something wrong, sir?"

"Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not".

Lyons continued to frown slightly, "It's just we don't get inspected here, you see, sir," he shook his head, "It just doesn't happen".

"Ever heard of a spot check?" John raised his eyebrows at Lyons, giving him a stern expression of his own as the man looked at him. He reached inside his pocket and withdrew his wallet, holding up his military ID for him to see, "_Captain_ John Watson…" Lyons immediately saluted him even before he had finished speaking, while Amelia cast John a sideways look, impressed, "…Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers," he returned the salute.

"Sir," Lyons said respectfully to John, dropping the salute, "Major Barrymore won't be pleased, sir," he glanced at Sherlock, "He'll want to see you both".

Amelia cleared her throat slightly, holding herself taller as Lyons looked at her, trying to make herself look professional, "I'm afraid that we won't have time for that, Mr Holmes," she said to Sherlock, quickly pulling her phone out of the pocket of her coat, pretending as if she was checking his schedule, "If you are to make your dinner meeting in London tonight, then we will need to take the full tour right away".

"I'm sorry, but you are, ma'am?" Lyons frowned slightly Amelia.

"This is my privet secretary, Amelia Wilson," Sherlock answered before Amelia could respond, giving Lyons a cool look, "She has full security clearance, Corporal, and where I go, she goes".

John nodded, turning back to Lyons, who still looked slightly unsure, "Carry on," he ordered him, but Lyons hesitated for a moment. He fixed the younger man with a sharp look, "That's an _order_, Corporal".

"Yes, sir," Lyons quickly nodded, and spun on his heel, starting to lead them towards the entrance.

Sherlock broke into a small smile, glancing at John with a proud expression before giving Amelia a small approving nod as they followed after Lyons. At the entrance there was a sign reading 'Automatic Security Door,' and Lyons paused by a card reading device beside the door and swiped his card through the reader, making it beep as he stepped back, allowing Sherlock access to do the same thing with Mycroft's pass. It beeped again and the words 'Access Granted' flashed across the small screen.

Lyons pressed a button on the keypad and the lock on the door disengaged loudly as Sherlock checked his watch, making a mental note to keep a close eye on the time, having a pretty good idea how long they would have before the alarms would be set off. The door slowly swung open and Lyons stepped inside, leading the three of them into a long corridor with several doors leading off it.

"Nice touch," Sherlock muttered to John.

"Very impressive," Amelia agreed softly, giving John a small smile.

"Haven't pulled rank in ages," John admitted.

"Enjoy it?" Sherlock asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh yeah," he grinned, making Amelia and Sherlock smile faintly.

They reached a second door, both Lyons and Sherlock swiping their cards once more, and gaining access as the door slide open to reveal a small lift. Lyons stepped inside first and the other three followed into the slightly cramped space, riding down to the first basement floor. The ride was quite short and soon enough, the doors were sliding open again and they stepped out into a large, brightly lit white tiled laboratory, following behind Lyons as he started to lead them out of the lift and through the room as several scientists in full bio-suits moved around the room.

Amelia winced as they passed a large cage with a monkey running around inside it, feeling ill as she noticed the collar and chain around its neck as it made loud noises as it clutched at the bars of the cage. She hated the idea of the poor creature being trapped inside such a small space and very dearly hoped that it was only a short-team enclosure. She had always been a great animal lover and refused to wear or buy anything that might have been tested on animals of came from killing them, such as fur coats.

Sherlock glanced at the monkey too, frowning slightly, "How many animals do you keep down here?" he questioned, casting his eyes around the room as they moved passed the cage.

"Lots, sir," Lyons replied over his shoulder.

"Any ever escape?" he asked, watching as a scientist walked passed them with a Beagle on a leash. Amelia had to resist the urge to crouch down and give the dog a pet.

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, sir," Lyons said, a hint of sarcasm entering his voice, "We're not breeding them that clever"

"Or so you claim," Amelia mumbled to herself, wishing she could do something to try and help the animals trapped down in the labs being experimented on, possibly without any care for ethics and principals in the name of science. Who knew just what was going on in a place like this one?

"Unless they have help," Sherlock remarked, casting Amelia a quick glance, noticing the tightness in her jaw as she seemed to be trying to keep her composer.

"Ah, and you are?" an older man in a white bio suit approached them, looking at them curiously, removing his facemask.

"Sorry, Doctor Frankland," Lyons said to the man as they came to a stop before him. He glanced back to them, "I'm just showing these gentlemen and lady around".

Frankland flashed them a broad smile, "Ah, new faces, huh? Nice," he said brightly, "Careful you don't get stuck here, though," he went on in a mock serious tone of voice, "I only came to fix a tap!"

Amelia smiled at the man, finding his little joke amusing as John chuckled politely, Sherlock's mouth didn't even twitch as they watched Frankland start to walk back down the way they had come towards the lift, casting a glance back towards them. Amelia couldn't help feeling slightly nervous, dearly hoping that the man wasn't one of John's ever growing fans of his blog as she noticed the thoughtful expression on the man's face as he looked away again. If he was, it would only be too easy for him to recognise them, since John insisted upon having pictures of the three of them on his blog, mainly to annoy Sherlock with the picture of him in the deerstalker.

John turned back to Lyons, "How far down does that lift go?" he asked, casting a look back towards the lift, eyeing Doctor Frankland's back slightly.

"Quite a way, sir," Lyons replied, not exactly answering the question.

"Hmm," he nodded, focusing his attention back on Lyons, "And what's down there?"

"Well, we have to keep the bins _somewhere_, sir," he said pleasantly, a little _too_ pleasantly for Amelia's liking, "This way please," he gestured for them to continue on their way through the room, turning to lead the way, while the three of them cast one last look towards Frankland, who had turned back to look at them as he waited for the lift.

Yes, Amelia really didn't like just how interested that man seemed to be in them, but she did have to guess that their arrival would cause a bit of a stir if what Lyons had said about them not getting checked was indeed correct.

"So what exactly is it that you do here?" John questioned Lyons as they followed him through the room.

"I thought you'd know, sir," Lyons remarked, still keeping the pleasant tone in his voice, but there was a hint of suspicion in his face as he spoke, glancing at John, "This being an _inspection_".

Sherlock and Amelia looked around curiously as they started to be led past several different work stations with scientist in masks working with what looked like rats in enclosed glass cages, while on a different station, two other scientist examined a leashed monkey's leg on a metal bench as the monkey sat calmly on the table, watching Amelia and Sherlock walk by, and on another nearby station, a scientist looked closely at some sort of bright yellow liquid inside a glass, lidded test tube.

John paused, turning to look properly at Lyons, not liking the man's tone, "Well, I'm not an expert, am I?" he said to him, using the same pleasant tone, drawing Sherlock and Amelia's attention back to them.

"Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir," Lyons informed him, turning and starting to lead them off again towards a set of double doors.

"But mostly weaponry?"

"Of one sort or another, yes," he confirmed as they reached the doors, swiping his pass before stepping aside to allow Sherlock access to do the same.

"Biological?" John began to list off, "Chemical…?"

"One war ends, another begins, sir. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared".

The doors locks disengaged and Sherlock checked his watch quickly, but he didn't seem overly concerned as he allowed his sleeve to cover his watch once again, lowering his arm back to his side. Amelia breathed a small sigh of relief, having been starting to grow concerned that their meeting with Frankland might have lasted longer than she had thought.

Lyons pushed the doors open and they followed closely behind him as they stepped into another large laboratory, just as another monkey stood up on an examination table, screeching loudly before sitting back down while a man in a lab coat held its leash and a woman with short brown hair quickly wrote something down on a clipboard in her hands, having been observing it.

"Okay, Michael, let's try Harlow Three next time," the woman said to the man holding the leash, walking away from the table to write something down on the clipboard.

"Doctor Stapleton," Lyons called as they approached her.

Sherlock frowned thoughtfully, while Amelia eyed the woman curiously, trying to figure out where she had heard or seen that name before, "Stapleton," he muttered, seeming to be trying to remember where he recognised the name, too.

"Yes?" Stapleton responded, only just looking up from her notes, eyeing Sherlock, Amelia, and John as she caught sight of them, "Who's this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am," Lyons told her, "Orders from up high. An inspection".

"_Really_?" she looked up at them again, very surprised.

"We're to be accorded every curtesy, Doctor Stapleton," Sherlock said to her, raising his eyebrows, "What's your role at Baskerville?"

Stapleton stared at him before scoffing loudly in disbelief.

"Er, accorded _every_ curtsey, isn't that the idea?" John reminded her.

She glanced a John, "I'm not free to say," she turned back to Sherlock, giving him an almost smug smile, "Official secrets".

Sherlock gave her a smile, his tone light, "Oh, you most certainly _are_ free…" his smile faded, his voice growing darker with a hint of a threatening undertone to it, "….and I suggest you_ remain_ that way".

Amelia cast him a quick look, slightly surprised by his response as Stapleton sighed, "I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies," she said after a moment, "I like to mix things up, genes, mostly, now and again actual fingers".

Realisation crossed Sherlock and Amelia's faces as they both realise where they had heard the name from. Sherlock reached inside his coat pocket, shaking his head, "Stapleton," he commented, exchanging a look with Amelia, "I _knew_ I knew your name".

"It was right in front of us," Amelia smiled slightly, feeling quite pleased with herself and just a little surprised.

Stapleton scoffed slightly, "I doubt it".

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence," Sherlock pulled a notebook out of his pocket and a pen, writing something on it as he spoke, "What dull lives they must lead," he finished writing and held the notebook up for her to see the word 'Bluebell' written across the page in large writing.

Her eyes widened, staring at the word in shock and amazement as Sherlock and Amelia watched her reaction intently. Lyons frowned, glancing at the word in confusion, "Have you been talking to my daughter?" she looked to Sherlock.

"What I would like to know is why you killed Bluebell?" Amelia said thoughtfully, eyeing Stapleton with a small frown as Sherlock slipped the pen and notebook away in his pocket, "Your little girl loved Bluebell, so why don't you tell us exactly why you had to kill it?"

John frowned deeply, looking between Amelia and Sherlock, "The rabbit?" he blinked, confused.

Stapleton looked back to them blankly as Sherlock stepped towards her, "Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive," he said, looking directly at the woman.

"The _rabbit_?" John repeated in disbelief.

"It was so clearly an inside job," Amelia sighed, shaking her head sadly, feeling sorry for the little girl. She really had loved that rabbit if she had gone so far as to email them for help.

"Oh, you reckon?" Stapleton raised her eyebrows at them, seeming to be over her shock.

"Why?" Sherlock continued, eyeing her, "Because it glowed in the dark".

She crossed her arms over her clipboard, trying and failing to keep her expression calm, her shoulders tensing, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," she told them calmly, glancing at John and Amelia as Sherlock quickly checked his watch, "Who are you?"

Sherlock lowered his arm, looking up from his watch, "Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal," he turned to Lyons, who looked completely confused by what was going on, "Thank you very much".

"Quite right," Amelia cleared her throat, pretending to check her phone again, "We really ought to be leaving," she gave Stapleton a nod as she turned on her heel, starting to follow after Sherlock as he headed for the door, "We have a, ah…helicopter arriving soon to take us back to London".

Lyons stared after them, "That's it?" he said, surprised.

"That's it," Sherlock confirmed, still walking briskly towards the door as John quickly hurried after them. He waved a hand in the direction of the door, "It's this way, isn't it?"

"Just a minute!" Stapleton called after them, but they didn't slow their pace in the slightest.

John quickly caught up with Amelia and Sherlock, while Lyons jogged behind them, "Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?" he hissed to his friends, making sure to keep her voice down so that Lyons couldn't hear him, sounding annoyed.

"Not _just_ a rabbit, John," Amelia replied softly, shrugging as she noticed the corner of Sherlock's mouth twitching in amusement, "A _glow_ in the dark rabbit. You can't just get one of those in a pet shop".

They reached the door and Sherlock swiped Mycroft's pass in the device, moving back slightly to let Lyons do the same thing as he finally caught up with them. Sherlock pushed the doors open as they unlocked and they calmly walked out into the main laboratory area, just as his phone beeped, singingly he had been sent a text. Without slowing his pace, he checked it, smirking down at the screen.

He laughed sarcastically, glancing at Amelia and John, "Twenty three minutes," he remarked, shaking his head, slipping his phone back inside his pocket, "Mycroft's getting slow".

They reached the lift, Sherlock swiping the pass and moving back to let Lyons swipe his, waiting for a moment for the lift's doors to open, revealing Doctor Frankland standing inside, almost as if he had been waiting for them.

The man looked up, giving them a friendly smile, trying to look casual, "Hello…" he greeted brightly, glancing at Sherlock and Amelia, "…again".

"Hello," Amelia said polity, moving inside the lift, feeling a small wave of uneasy wash over her at the pleased look on his face.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man before also moving inside the lift, not seeming to believe that the man had just happened to be standing there either. John and Lyons followed close behind him, all of them cramped into the tight space, forcing Amelia to wedge herself between the wall and Sherlock as the lift began to rise. It only took a short few moments before the lift came to a stop and the doors slide open on a bearded man in military uniform, clearly having been waiting for them, not looking very happy as he frowned deeply.

Lyons immediately straightened, clasping his hands behind his back, "Er, um, Major…" he began, almost nervously.

"This is bloody outrageous," the Major cut Lyons off, glaring at them all, "Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it?" John asked slowly, glancing quickly to Lyons, who opened his mouth to reply, but he shook his head, taking a deep breath as he stepped out of the lift towards the man, "Yes, well, good," he nodded, Sherlock and Amelia stepping out behind him, Amelia trying hard not to look to worried, "Very good," he offered the man his hand to shake, "We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson?" he glanced at Sherlock as Barrymore didn't bother to even glance at his offered hand.

Sherlock's phone dinged again with another text alert and reached into his pocket for it, "Deeply," he agreed dryly, nodding sarcastically as he pushed passed the man, "_Hugely_".

"Oh, yes," Amelia added quickly, hurrying after Sherlock as he checked his phone, walking off down the hallway. John followed close behind.

Barrymore scoffed loudly, shaking his head, clearly still very annoyed as he turned around, following behind them, "The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense…" he huffed.

Sherlock slipped his phone away, "I'm so sorry, Major," he said calmly, a hint of amusement in his tone as he spoke over the other man.

"Inspections?" he exclaimed, outraged.

"New policy," he waved him off, and Amelia was quite sure he was enjoying himself, "Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to," he lowered his voice, his tone turning more urgent as he glanced at Amelia and John, "Keep walking".

"Sir!" Lyons called suddenly, running out of a doorway leading off of the corridor, having disappeared inside it moments before. He slammed his hand on a red button beside the door, setting of an alarm and flashing lights as the security doors locked, making them all stop and look back to him, "ID unauthorised, sir," he informed them hurriedly.

Amelia felt her heart skip a beat and she swallowed nervously. Great, now they were going to end up in prison, having to ware those terrible uniforms. She really should have known this was going to happen.

"What?" Barrymore said sharply.

"I just got the call".

"Is that right?" he said slowly, turning back to look at the three of them, narrowing his eyes, "Who are you?"

"Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake," John tried to calm the situation.

Barrymore sent him a look and held out his hand to Sherlock for his ID card, which he gave to him. He looked down at the card, noticing the picture of Mycroft's face in the corner at once, and looked back up to him, "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes," he said coldly.

John shook his head, pulling a small notebook out of his pocket, starting to write complete nonsense on it just to look as if he had been taking notes, "Computer error, Major," he waved him off, trying very hard to remain calm, "It'll have to go in the report".

"What the _hell's_ going on?" he demanded angrily.

"It's all right, Major," Frankland called, walking down the hallway to join them, turning to look at Sherlock, John, and Amelia, "I know exactly who these gentlemen and lady are".

He stared at him, while the other three tensed, "You do?"

He smiled, nodding, "Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces but Mr Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place".

"Ah, well…" Sherlock began, trying to think quickly of just what excuse he could use.

Frankland continued to smile at him and held out his hand for Sherlock to shake, "Good to see you again, Mycroft," he said happily, making John's mouth almost fall open in shock, and Amelia sigh in relief, closing her eyes briefly. Sherlock smiled falsely in return, taking and shaking his offered hand, hiding his own shock. Frankland glanced at Barrymore, "I had the honour of meeting Mr Holmes at the W.H.O conference in…" he paused, pretending to think, looking back to Sherlock, "…Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna," Sherlock corrected, letting go of his hand.

"Vienna, that's it," Frankland nodded, turning to Barrymore, who was still watching them with a confused and suspicious expression, "This is Mr Mycroft Holmes, Major," he assured him, "There's obviously been a mistake".

Barrymore eyed Sherlock for a moment longer before reluctantly turning around to Lyons, giving him a nod. Lyons quickly stepped back into the room and switched off the alarm, the lights stopped flashing, and the entrance door opened once more noisily.

He turned back to face Frankland, "On your head be it, Doctor Frankland," he warned him, clearly still not believe a word of what they had said, but he didn't have enough proof to try and prove that Frankland was lying.

Frankland laughed slightly, glancing over to Lyons as he headed back over to them, "I'll show them out, Corporal," he told him.

"Very well, sir," Lyons said, nodding.

Sherlock, John, and Amelia happily made their escape through the open door, Frankland following behind them as they left Barrymore to watch them go with a rather displeased expression on his face. Amelia smiled slightly, taking a deep breath as the cool wind hit her face, enjoying the sensation as John continued to look around worriedly, as if he was expecting them to get arrested at any moment as they started to walk towards where they had left the car.

"You have no idea how grateful we are, Doctor Frankland," Amelia smiled over her shoulder to the older man, "Thank you".

Frankland returned the smile, looking at them curiously, "This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" he asked, almost eagerly, nodding to himself when they remained silent, "I _thought_ so," he said after a moment, "I knew he wanted help but I didn't realise he was going to contact _Sherlock Holmes _and _Amelia Wilson_!" Sherlock grimaced at being discovered, while Amelia felt slightly flattered. Most people seemed to think that she just hung around Sherlock and wasn't a detective in her own right, so it was rather refreshing to have someone actually _see_ her as a detective, "Oh, don't worry," he smiled at Sherlock, seeing his face, "I know who you really are. I'm never off your website," he shrugged slightly, disappointed, "I thought you'd be wearing the hat, though".

"That wasn't my hat," Sherlock sighed slightly, shooting Amelia a look when she laughed quietly beside him.

"I hardly recognise him without the hat!" he said to John, who tried to stop himself from smiling.

"It _wasn't_ my hat," Sherlock repeated a bit louder, getting annoyed.

"It's just a hat, Holmes," Amelia muttered to him, rolling her eyes.

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson," Frankland continued to John, taking no notice of Sherlock at all.

"Oh," John smiled, slightly surprised, "Cheers!"

"The, er, the pink thing…"

"Mmm".

"…and that one about the aluminium crutch!"

"Yes".

"And Miss Wilson," Frankland looked around Sherlock to see Amelia, who blinked slightly in surprise, "You and Mr Holmes are a great match…"

Amelia's eyes widened slightly, her head snapping around to look at him, "Oh no, we're not…" she began quickly, feeling her cheeks starting to heart up. Really, if people weren't assuming that John and Sherlock were a couple then they were assuming that she and Sherlock must be.

Sherlock stopped suddenly and turned to face Frankland, "You know Henry Knight?" he asked him, cutting Amelia off.

"Well, I knew his Dad," Frankland told them, coming to a stop, "He had all sorts of mad stories about this place. Still, he was a good friend," he said sadly before quickly looking back over his shoulder towards the entrance to the labs to see Barrymore eyeing them closely. He turned back to them, "Listen, I can't really talk now," he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card, holding it out to Sherlock, who took it, "Here's my, er, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call".

Amelia raised her eyebrows slightly, taking note of the word 'cell' rather than 'mobile'. She had only lived in America for a little over eleven months, but even she had had to make a conscious effort to stop herself from using American teams in daily life for several weeks after moving back London, Doctor Frankland had obviously spent quite a number of years living there.

"I never did ask, Doctor Frankland," Sherlock looked at him curiously, "What exactly is it that you do here?"

"Oh, Mr Holmes, I would love to tell you, but then, of course, I'd have to kill you!" he laughed.

"You wouldn't be the first to try, Doctor Frankland," Amelia commented seriously, casting Sherlock a quick glance, thinking of her dear old brother.

Frankland lost his smile, realising that she meant it.

"Tell me about Doctor Stapleton," Sherlock went on.

He hesitated slightly, "Never speak ill of a colleague".

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do".

"I _do_ seem to be, don't I?" he agreed, shrugging slightly.

Sherlock held up the card with his number written across it, "I'll be in touch".

"Any time," he nodded, watching them turn and start to walk away towards their car, making their way around the barricade.

"So?" John sighed slightly after a moment, looking at Sherlock's back.

"So?" he raised his eyebrows back to him, tucking the card away from safe keeping in his pocket.

"What was all that about the rabbit?" he questioned.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched as he adjusted his coat around himself, popping the collar up as they reached the car. Amelia laughed, shaking her head at him as she moved passed him to pull the back door open, getting ready to climb inside.

John noticed too, rolling his eyes at his flatmate, heading around to the left side of the car, "Oh, please, can we _not _do this, this time?" he grumbled slightly.

Sherlock paused, frowning at him in confusion, "Do what?"

He sighed again, "You being all mysterious with…your cheekbones and turning your coat collar up so you look cool," he said, shaking his head, and moving to pull the front passenger door open.

Sherlock actually seemed to be shocked for a moment as he opened and closed his mouth for a moment, "I don't do that," he finally managed to get out.

Amelia laughed, exchanging a look with John, "Yeah, you do!" they both said in unison, climbing into the car, while Sherlock sulked slightly, getting into the driver's seat.

_**I apologise if there was a lack of Amelia in this chapter, but there will be more of her in the next chapter. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	8. Chapter 8The Hounds of Baskerville,Part3

_**The Hounds of Baskerville, Part 3**_

"So, the email from Kirsty," John began as Sherlock drove them back towards the village from Baskerville, the countryside out the windows speeding past them, "The, er, missing luminous rabbit…"

"Kirsty _Stapleton_, whose Mother specialises in genetic manipulation," Sherlock remarked, nodding.

He shook his head, turning back to look outside the window, "She made her daughter's rabbit glow in the dark".

"She probably didn't _mean_ to give her daughter a glow in the dark rabbit," Amelia said thoughtfully from the back seat, leaning forward between the gap in the front seats, "We already know that Stapleton works with animals, it's not too hard to imagine that that might include rabbits. Perhaps there was a mix up and she took the wrong rabbit?"

"It's probably a fluorescent gene removed and spliced into the specimen," Sherlock shrugged, not seeming to be the slightest bit surprised, "Simple enough these days".

"So…" John trailed off, and looked back across to Sherlock.

"_So_ we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals," he continued, "The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"

There was a short pause before John smiled faintly, "To be fair, that is quite a wide field," he pointed out.

Amelia laughed, nodding in agreement as Sherlock looked across to John, actually startled by the realisation of just how true that was.

…

Henry's Knights house was, to put it lightly, huge. It was a four story stone building that loomed over them as they climbed out of the Land Rover and began to make their way down a concrete path and up to an old fashioned conservatory that was attached to the side of the house, looking quite rundown with ivy growing wild up the walls and through the long since broken out windows of one side of the building, and white paint flaking off the window ledges. As they neared the open doorway of the conservatory, Amelia noticed that there was a second far newer building that was attached to the side of the original building, partly hidden by the conservatory and with an entire wall made completely of glass windows.

They walked through the conservatory and across to a large door, John's eyes slowly starting to return to their normal size after having caught sight of the house, while Amelia could only shake her head in amusement, wondering what he would have thought of her family home in Ireland. Sherlock rang the doorbell and, after a moment, the door swung open and Henry smiled at them, looking relieved to see them.

"Hi," he greeted them.

"Hi," John nodded to him.

"Come in," he waved them into his home, moving aside from the doorway, "Come in".

Sherlock stepped forward, actually taking a moment to quickly wipe his shoes on the doormat before entering the entrance hallway, Amelia and John following close behind him, their shoes sounding loudly on the wooden floorboards on the floor. They headed down the hallway, looking around curiously at the house that still seemed to have a bit of a Victorian flair to it with the wood panelling on the walls. They passed by an open doorway of a pallor room, John pausing in the doorway to look inside the blue painted, high ceilinged room, before following Henry as he headed off down the hallway to join Amelia and Sherlock up ahead.

"This is, uh…" John looked around at the impressive house, blinking in surprise. This really hadn't been what he was expecting at all. He turned to Henry, "Are you, um…" he paused, trying to think of the right word, "Rich?"

"Yeah," Henry replied casually.

"Right".

Henry turned and began to lead them off into another room as Sherlock shot John an exasperated look, while Amelia shook her head at him, more amused then anything as she followed after Henry into the modern extension of the building, which turned out to be the kitchen. It was almost shocking going from being in the original building to the very contemporary part with the white kitchen cabinets and floor to ceiling windows, but it still had a bit of the stone exposed on one side of the room.

Henry set to work making coffee for John and Sherlock, while Amelia took tea instead, and after a few minutes, he sat the cups down before them as they gathered around the island counter in the middle of the room. Sherlock instantly began pilling sugar into his cup and stirred it in, while John took his without sugar, and Amelia only took a small teaspoon of sugar into hers. Henry stood opposite them on the other side of the counter, frowning down at the work surface.

"It's…it's a couple of words," he told them, having explained to them while they had waited for the kettle to boil that he had made a small breakthrough in his session with his therapist, remembering something from the night of his father's murder, "It's what I keep seeing. 'Liberty…'"

"'Liberty?'" John repeated, reaching inside his pocket and withdrawing his notebook to jot it down.

"'Liberty,'" Henry confirmed, looking up, "And…'in,'" he sighed heavily as Sherlock and Amelia glanced at each other thoughtfully, John still taking note, "It's just that," he picked up a small, half empty milk container sitting on the counter between them, holding it up to them, "Are you finished?"

"Yes, thank you," Amelia nodded, giving him a small smile.

He turned away to put the milk away in the fridge as John glanced at the two detectives, "Mean anything to you two?" he asked them.

"'Liberty in death,'" Sherlock said softly, looking thoughtful, "Isn't that the expression?" John hummed in agreement, nodding as he continued, "The only true freedom".

"There's a town in America called 'Liberty,'" Amelia commented, frowning in thought, trying to think of something, but she somehow doubted it had anything to do with a town in Indiana, America. She would have suggested that it was a hotel, but Henry had already made it very clear that it was spelt as 'in' and not with two 'N's'.

Henry moved back to the counter, sighing heavily again as he glanced out the window as Amelia took a sip of her tea, "What now, then?" he questioned hopefully, looking back to them, swinging his arms nervously.

"Sherlock's got a plan," John assured him, glancing over to Sherlock.

Sherlock lowered his cup back onto the bench from his mouth, giving Henry a wide smile, "Yes," he agreed, confidently.

"Right," Henry nodded, turning to Sherlock, looking quite eager.

"We take you back out onto the moor…"

"Okay…" he said slowly, taking a deep, nervous breathe.

"….and see if anything attacks you".

"What?" Amelia and John exclaimed, their heads both snapping around in Sherlock's direction, startled, "You can't be serious, Holmes," she continued, staring at him as if she had never seen him before.

Sherlock looked back to them calmly, "That should bring things to a head," he shrugged.

"At night?" Henry grew pale and his eyes widened, not taking his gaze off Sherlock as they all turned back to him, "You want me to go out there at_ night_?"

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed in confirmation.

"_That's _your plan?" John scoffed incredulously, shaking his head at Sherlock as he looked away from him, "Brilliant!"

"Got any better ideas?"

"You can't just send him out there to play bait, Sherlock!" Amelia hissed, leaning closer to Sherlock's ear so that poor Henry couldn't hear her. The man already looked white as a sheet at the very idea as it was, "It's completely unethical and not to mention extremely dangerous. The man's mental state is already fragile, we do not need to make it worse by sending him off onto the moors to possibly be attacked by his worst nightmare all over again!"

He sighed heavily, looking mildly exasperated, "Listen, if there is a monster out there, there's only one thing to do: find out where it lives," he said, not bothering to keep his voice down as he turned back to face Henry, flashing him a smile and lifting his cup back up to his mouth, taking a sip.

Amelia closed her eyes tightly, "For the record, I completely disagree with this".

….

Dusk had set by the time that they had set out onto the moor with night quickly following. Henry led them out across the rocky and uneven surface towards Dewer's Hollow, each with a torch to light their way. Amelia had swapped her heeled boots for a pair of gumboots with her jeans tucked into them and had wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as the evening temperature dropped noticeably, leaving her longing for the lovely fireplace back in the pub. Still, the case had to come before personal comfort, as she had long since resigned herself to when she had first became a detective. It was a bit like why she would put up with arching feet in order to wear heels all day for the sake of style.

They weaved their way through rocks and tree roots sticking out of the ground, more than once Sherlock had to grab Amelia's shoulder, much to her embarrassment, before she could end up tripping over a rock she hadn't noticed in the dimming light. He certainly seemed to find it amusing.

"You would think that you would be more capable of walking in flats if you can walk perfectly fine in six inch heels," he commented after the second time that he prevented her from face planting the ground.

She gave him a sweet smile, "And I would have thought that you would have worn your deerstalker for a trip on the moors," she retorted teasingly.

He stopped and sent her a glare, "That _wasn't _my hat," he practically ground out.

"Could have fooled me, it suits you so well".

"So says the woman who has to use an entire bedroom as her closest".

"Oh, please. I've seen your wardrobe, you have seven pairs of the _exact_ same coat and scarf…"

"Do they fight like this often?" Henry asked, glancing at John beside him, having stopped and looked back when they realised that Amelia and Sherlock had stopped following.

"This isn't fighting," John shook his head, eyeing the pair as they continued to bicker with an almost amused expression, "This is their idea of…" he paused, trying to come up with the right word, "Flirting".

He knew what their fighting looked like and this, _this_ wasn't it. He might not have Sherlock or Amelia's keen eyes, but even he could see the glint in Sherlock's eyes that looked similar to the one he got when he was getting close to figuring out a case out, or the slight flush in Amelia's cheeks and the lifted corner of her mouth. They were enjoying bickering, trying to get under each other's skins, and try to irritate each other as much as possible, almost like a game to see which one could win. They never said anything that would really insult or hurt each other, it was all just banter to them. Playful and teasing, and possibly the closest that Sherlock had ever come to actually flirting before.

"…and exactly how long do you take to pick out you're outfits," Sherlock was saying, narrowing his eyes at Amelia, the two having moved closer to each other so that they were only inches apart. Amelia was surprisingly a few inches shorter then Sherlock, John realised, not used to seeing her in flat shoes.

"You can hardly judge," Amelia scoffed, shaking her head at him, "I seem to recall a time in which you took an hour to pick out an outfit, only to simply wear what you had already been wearing before…"

John sighed tiredly, reaching up to rub his forehead, "Sherlock!" he called, cutting Amelia off, making them both look at him in surprise, almost as if they had forgotten that they were still there, "Amelia!"

"What?" Sherlock almost snapped at him.

"The case, remember?" he reminded them, rolling his eyes.

Amelia blinked and looked back Sherlock, meeting his eyes at the same time that they both seemed to become aware of just how close they were standing, and quickly took a step back from each other, "Right," she muttered, blushing as she looked back to John, "Sorry".

Sherlock cleared his throat and for a moment, John could have sworn he noticed a very faint shade of pink high in his cheeks, before he looked away and began striding off again, forcing Henry, John, and Amelia to hurry after him. Soon enough, night began to settle in around them as the pinkish glow in the sky started to fade completely, leaving them with only the light of their torches to light their way as they continued across the moor, walking into the thick tree line of the woods. Suddenly, a rustling sound in the undergrowth sounded, making both Amelia and John come to a stop, shining their torches in the direction, startled.

"It must just be a fox…" Amelia said slowly, not seeing anything. She hated going out in thick trees at night time. She had a bad experience of when she was six and her parents had decided to go on a nature walk for a week in the Black Forest, Germany and James had convinced her that there was a witches house, just like the one out of Hansel and Gretel, and that their parents were going to leave them in the woods, just like the two children from the Brothers Grimm story. It was James's favourite story as a kid and their Mother had always favoured the original stories to the more child friendly Disney versions. Since then, she had avoided going into forests at night-time whenever she could, and living in London made that very easy.

An owl screeched from somewhere in the distance as they moved closer towards where the strange rustling sound had come from, shining their torches around at the undergrowth, but once again there was nothing that either of them could see, not even the glint of a fox's eyes.

"What's that?" John murmured, making Amelia look back to see him frowning at something in the distance. She followed his gaze to see that a strange light was flashing on and off, seeming to be positioned on a hill far into the distance from where they were standing. He shook his head and looked back towards where they had last seen Henry and Sherlock, "Sher…" he began, only to trail off.

Sherlock and Henry had vanished into the trees and darkness while they had been distracted. They couldn't even see their flashlights the trees were so thick.

"Typical," Amelia sighed, shaking her head as she shone her torch around at the trees, but it only made the forest seem even creepier then she had first thought. Why did torchlight always do that, make everything so much more frightening?

John turned back to face the flashing light, eyeing it curiously as he reached into his pocket, "What do you think?" he asked, nodding at the light, pulling his notepad out of his pocket, "Morse code?"

She looked back to the lightly, frowning at it, "Who would be trying to get a message out here?" she wondered. They were too far from the road for someone to see it and it wasn't as if anyone lived on the moor, "And who is it intended for?"

He gave her a small, ironic smile, "Maybe someone's trying to give us a clue".

"I wish," she said dryly.

He laughed slightly, grabbing the pen he had stuck to the front page of the small book, flipping it open, and looking back to the flashing light, "U…" he began muttering aloud, jotting each flash down as Amelia held her torch on to his page so that he could see what he was doing, "…M…Q…R…A…" the light stopped flashing in the distance and he stopped writing, frowning down at what he had written, "U, M, Q, R, A. Umqra?" he tried.

"That's not a word," Amelia remarked, eyeing what he had written, "Possibly not even one in any other language on the planet, either," she sighed, glancing back towards the hill for a moment, but no more light flashed in the distance. She shook her head and looked back to John, "Come on, we should get after Henry and Sherlock".

"Yeah, right…" John nodded, snapping the notepad shut, casting the hill in the distance one last look before setting off with Amelia into the trees, "Sherlock…" he hissed through the trees, trying to shine his torch ahead of them, hoping to see the back of either Henry or Sherlock, "Sherlock…Sherlock…" they continued down the path with Amelia trying her very hardest not to jump every time a twig snapped or one of them stood on a dry leaf, "Sherlock?" he tried again.

"They've got at least two minutes on us, John," Amelia pointed out, keeping her voice soft so that, just in case, however unlikely, they would be able to hear footsteps ahead of them or voices, "I highly doubt we will catch up to them before they've reached the Hollow".

He sighed, unable to deny that she did make a good point there, "So," he began after a long moment of silence, glancing at her face, but he could only just make out the profile of her face in the dark, "What's going on between you two?"

She frowned, "Who?"

"Sherlock".

She actually faulted in her walking for a second, taken aback, "I don't know what…"

"Oh, come on," he cut across her, sounding more amused then anything, "You two go out to dinner all the time, you bicker back and forth, you even stay up late watching telly together".

"We're _friends_," she insisted, her previous nerves about being in a creepy forest completely forgotten, "You and I have gone out to dinner and watched TV together plenty of times".

"Usually with Sherlock there, and I never went along with you two on any of those dates…"

"They weren't dates! It was just two colleagues and friends having dinner together while discussing past cases. I'm not even sure Sherlock's even capable of having a romantic relationship, and I highly doubt he would ever be interested in me in the way you are implying".

"It's not like you two aren't compatible," John commented lightly, shrugging as Amelia came to a complete stop, staring at his shadowed face in complete astonishment.

"_Compatible_, yes," she agreed, "But _platonic friends_ are usually quite compatible, I've found".

"And you feel nothing deep then friendship for him? Really?"

Amelia opened and closed her mouth, trying very hard to make herself 'yes,' but she couldn't help be reminded of when Irene Adler had been on the scene. She had been jealous, jealous of the way that Irene had been able to capture Sherlock's attention so easily, now that didn't mean that she had to actually have feelings for him, but it had to mean _something_, "Why are you so interested?" she asked, avoiding the question as she set off walking again, forcing John to follow.

"Because I have to live with him and you spend more time in our flat then your own. And…" he paused, his voice growing softer, "You're my friends, my best friends. I want you two to be happy and if that's with each other…"

She sighed, feeling quite touched that he felt that way, "Look, John…" she began to say, thinking carefully, when an eerie, almost metallic thrumming sound echoed from somewhere in the distance, making them both freeze, alarmed, "What was that?" she breathed shakily, feeling her heart almost leap out of her chest in fright.

John shone his torch in the direction that the sound had come from, frowning deeply as he began to walk in the direction, just as another metallic thrum came again. Amelia swallowed nervously and trailed behind him, trying hard not to make too much noise, suddenly painfully aware of just how much noise they had been making. They continued following the noise as it came again and again, growing louder as they seemed to near it, John shining his torch around while Amelia just tried not to trip over anything. They walked towards a tree that the sound seemed to be coming from and peered around it, only to find a rusty metal container, possibly an old drum, lying in the undergrowth beneath the tree with water dripping down onto it from the tree, causing the thrumming noise.

Amelia sighed in relief as John chuckled slightly, both shaking their heads at themselves for getting so alarmed over a little bit of dripping water on an old drum, when something flashed past them in between the trees in a black blur, making them jump and whirl around, but whatever it was it had already disappeared into the darkness.

"Dear God," Amelia whispered, pressing a gloved hand to her chest, over her thumping heart through the fabric of her coat, "This is like being in a nightmare…" suddenly, a loud howl sounded in the distance, and their eyes widened fearfully. She grabbed John's arm, moving closer to him in her fright, "No," she breathed, her voice shaking and her knees growing almost faint, "_That's_ nightmare material".

They meet each other's eyes and took off running through the trees, desperately trying to find Henry and Sherlock so that they could get out of the forest, tripping and stumbling over roots and fallen branches in their haste as another howl rang out. They continued running, when they finally caught sight of torchlight up ahead and Sherlock and Henry came walking towards them, Henry looking very pale, while Sherlock walked straight past them as if he hadn't even seen them, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Did you hear that?" John asked them, referring to the howl as they caught up to them. Amelia frowned as Sherlock brushed past her, not at all liking how pale he looked. Far paler then normal.

"We saw it!" Henry told them, almost gasping for breath, his eyes wide as they followed after Sherlock, "We _saw_ it!"

"No," Sherlock shook his head, his voice sounding strangely distant, "I didn't see anything".

Henry stared at his back, looking very confused, before he practically chased after him. Amelia frowned, looking between the two, "What?" he exclaimed, "What are you talking about?"

"I didn't. See. _Anything_," he insisted, not pausing in the slightest as he continued on.

Amelia, John, and Henry stopped, staring after him in confusion and concern, before slowly following after him.

….

Amelia was forced to drive the car back to Henry's house, since Sherlock was far too distracted to be safely driving a car, and dropped Henry and John off in the driveway, John planning to walk back into the village since it was only a short walk. Once John and Henry had climbed out and heading for the house, she drove back to the pub and parked around the side of it. Sherlock had already climbed out of the car by the time she had even unbuckled her seatbelt, leaving her to quickly grab her gloves that she had taken off to drive, hurrying after him.

She soon found him at the bar, being served a small glass of something amber in it from the bar, hardly pausing as he grabbed the glass and headed into the small dining room with people sitting, eating dinner. He made his way over to where three armchairs where by the roaring fireplace, and took a seat in one of the chairs, sitting the glass with shaky hands on the small table beside his chair. Amelia slowly took the seat beside him, eyeing his face worriedly as she noticed his lips trembling and his face frozen in an expression she had never seen on his face before: fear. He was afraid and shocked by whatever he had witnessed, and it scared her far more than anything in the woods had.

She swallowed, not even feeling the warmth of the fireplace now as she watched Sherlock's expression, "Sherlock…" she began gently, hesitating as she reached out her hand before slowly lowering it to cover his hand. She was surprised when he didn't try to shake it off, in fact, he even turned his hand over and clasped her hand, holding it tightly as he raised his other hand, pressing it to his mouth as he stared into the fireplace.

John stepped into the room a moment later, pausing in the doorway before he spotted them, and made his way over to them, taking the chair beside Amelia and across from Sherlock, "Well, he is in a pretty bad way," he said, not seeming to have noticed Sherlock's distressed state, "He's manic, totally convinced there's some mutant super-dog roaming the moors," Sherlock glanced briefly over to John, almost nervously before looking back to the fireplace, his grasp on Amelia's hand tightening even more, "And there isn't, though, is there?" he continued, looking over to Sherlock, "'Cause if people knew to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know".

"True," Amelia agreed, her voice softer than normal, her eyes flickering worriedly back over to Sherlock, who had closed his eyes and taken a deep breathe, lowering his hand back to his lap, "No doubt they would end up on the black-market, or the military would probably find a super-dog useful".

"That's how it works," John agreed, nodding to her before something seemed to occur to him, "Oh, er, listen…" he sat forward and reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out his notepad as he glanced at Sherlock, "Er, on the moor we saw someone signalling," he flipped the book open, trying to find the right page, "Er, Morse…I guess it's Morse," he found the page, frowning down at it, completely missing Sherlock blinking repeatedly, "Doesn't seem to make much sense. Er, U, M, Q, R, A," he looked back up over to Sherlock, "Does that mean….anything…" he trailed off slightly, finally realising just how distressed his friend was and noticing the way that Amelia was eyeing him, her hand clasped with Sherlock's. He cleared his throat, deciding to drop the subject of Morse code as he slipped his notepad back inside his pocket, "So, okay," he tried again, "What have we got? We know there's footprints, 'cause Henry found them; so did the tour guide bloke. We _all _heard something…"

Amelia frowned at Sherlock, feeling his hand shaking very faintly in hers as he struggled to keep his composer. He blew out another shaky breathe, his eyes fixed on the flames of the fireplace. She didn't like it, seeing Sherlock so distressed, it just wasn't something that she had ever seen before, even when they had all been almost blown up by her brother he had still kept his composer.

John eyed Sherlock for a moment, narrowing his eyes slightly when he still hadn't responded, "Maybe we should just look for wherever's got a big dog," he suggested, shaking his head.

"Henry's right," Sherlock said quietly, not taking his gaze off the fireplace.

"What?" he asked, frowning as Amelia's own frown grew deeper.

"I saw it…too," he murmured shakily.

"When you say you saw 'it,'" Amelia looked at him carefully, keeping her voice low and calm. It didn't make sense to her, not logically, but she could guess what he had seen or believed he had seen to cause him so much distress, "You mean the hound, don't you?" she questioned softly.

Finally, Sherlock looked up to them, looking as if he hated himself for having to admit it, "Yes," he confirmed, his voice growing stronger now and full of self-loathing, "A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic hound," he hissed out through gritted teeth.

"Sherlock…" Amelia sighed as he looked away again, almost appearing to be blinking back tears. She didn't know what to do, she knew he wouldn't want her to try hugging him, it was a small miracle that he was actually holding her hand. She felt lost as to what to do to try comforting him and she felt guilty that as his friend, she didn't have any idea of what to do.

John stared at him, looking as if he was close to laughing as he sat back in his chair, seeming to be struggling even more to know how to handle Sherlock's current state himself, "Um, look, Sherlock," he looked over to him, clearing his throat slightly, "We have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can't just…" Sherlock released another loud breathe as he continued speaking, "Let's just stick to what we know, yes?" he tried reasoning, "Stick to the facts".

Sherlock looked back to him, "Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true," he said softly.

"What does that mean?"

He didn't reply as he picked up his glass containing the amber liquid from the table beside him, looking down at it in his trembling hand, "Huh," he scoffed, almost bitterly to himself as he eyed the way his hands shook, "Look at me. I'm afraid, John, Amelia. Afraid," he took a sip and lowered it again, his hand still shaking.

"Perhaps drinking isn't the best thing for you to be doing right now," Amelia commented, concerned. She had never seen him drink before, not even with the whole Adler debacle, and adding fear into that mix of alcohol and Sherlock's usual pleasant personality surly wasn't the best idea.

"Always been able to keep myself distance…" he continued as if she hadn't spoken, taking another drink from his glass, before lowering it again, "Divorce myself from…_feelings_," he practically spat the last word out, "But look, you see…" he turned back to them and held up his shaking glass, "Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions," he sneered, slamming the glass down on the table, glaring back into the fireplace, "The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment".

"Yeah, all right, Spock, just…" John cut in calmly, pausing to glance back behind them to where people were still eating their dinner's, not seeming to have been paying the three of them much attention. He turned back to Sherlock, lowering his voice, "Take it easy," he told him as Sherlock took a few deep breathes, trying to gather his composer, "You've been pretty wired lately, you know you have," he went on firmly, "I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up".

"Worked…up?" he repeated lowly, his head snapping back to narrow his eyes at him.

"It was dark and scary…"

"Me?" he laughed sarcastically, shaking his head, "There's nothing wrong with me," he looked away again, almost hyperventilating now as he reached up to rub his left temple, groaning faintly.

Amelia threw John a helpless look, practically begging him to try and do something to calm Sherlock down. After all, he was a doctor, he ought to be used to dealing with distressed and scared patients, but right now trying to make Sherlock see reason really wasn't doing anything but make him even more upset. Sherlock's grip on her hand had grown to the point that it was almost painful and she could feel her fingertips starting to grow numb from being held so tightly for so long without moving them, but she didn't dare try to pull her hand away, not when it seemed to be offering him a small amount of comfort.

John frowned as he watched Sherlock, still not seeming to be entirely sure what to make of this sudden very emotional reaction, "Sherlock…" he began, but he hardly seemed to hear him as he breathed rapidly, his eyes closed tightly, "Sher…" he tried again, his tone growing sterner.

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!" Sherlock suddenly shouted, whirling around in his chair to glare at John as Amelia flinched, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND!"

Silence. Amelia took a deep breath and glanced back over her shoulder to see that everyone in the room was staring at them with alarmed and startled expressions. So much for trying to calm him down.

"You want me to prove it, yes?" he turned back to them as the patrons slowly went back to their meals and conversations. He inhaled deeply, still shaking slightly as he spoke quickly, "We're looking for a dog, yes? A great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Cherchez le chien! Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?" he looked between the gap in his and Amelia's chair, "How about them?" he pointed aggressively across the room to where a middle aged man was sitting opposite an older women in the corner of the room, the women still finishing off her desert, "The sentimental window and her son, the unemployed fishermen," he looked back to John, "The answers yes".

John frowned, confused, "Yes?" he asked slowly.

"She's got a West Highland terrier called Whisky. Not exactly what we're looking for."

He sighed heavily, realising what he was doing, "Oh, Sherlock, for God's sake…"

Sherlock looked back over the pair as Amelia reached up to rub her forehead with her free hand, not liking just how aggressive and intent he was sounding, as if he was close to completely losing it at any moment, "Look at the jumper he's wearing," he continued, nodding to the light blue jumper that the man had on with reindeers and holly leaves knitted across the itchy looking wool, "Hardly worn. Clearly he's uncomfortable in it," he turned back to face them, "Maybe it's because of the material; more likely the hideous pattern…" Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh, "…suggesting it's a present, probably Christmas. So he wants into his Mother's good books. Why? Almost certainly money," he glanced back over to the man, "He's treating her to a meal but his own portion is small," he looked back to the fireplace, "That means he wants to impress her, but he's trying to economise on his own food".

"Well, maybe he's just not hungry," John argued.

"No, that's a small plate, which makes it a _starter_," Amelia said before Sherlock, shaking her head as she glanced over to the man, too, taking note of the small, completely empty plate he had sitting before him on the table, "He's barely left any of the source behind on it, either, while his Mother is on her desert".

"If she treated him, he'd have had as much as he wanted," Sherlock agreed, glancing over at the pair, "He's hungry all right, and not well off, you can tell that by the state of his cuffs and shoes," he took a deep breath and turned back to John, "'How d'you know she's his Mother?'" he said mockingly, making John look away with a small smile, "Who else would give him a Christmas present like that? Well, it could be an aunt or an elder sister, but Mother's more likely," he glanced back over to the man, "Now, he _was _a fishermen. Scarring pattern on his hands, very distinctive. Fish hooks. They're quite old now, which suggests he's been unemployed for some time," he turned back to the fireplace, "Not must industry in this part of the world, so he's turned to his windowed Mother for help. 'Window?'" he mocked John again, "Yes, obviously. She's got a man's wedding ring on a chain around her neck, clearly her late husband's and too big for her finger. She's well-dressed but her jewellery's cheap. She could afford better, but she's kept it, it's sentimental," he glanced back across to John, "Now, the dog…" he looked over to the women as he spoke, "Tiny little hairs all over the leg from where it gets a little _too_ friendly, but no hairs above the knees, suggesting it's a small dog, probably a terrier," he looked back over to John, "In fact it is a West Highland terrier called Whiskey. 'How the hell do you know that, Sherlock?' 'Cause she was on the same train as us and I heard her calling its name and that's not cheating, that's listening. I use my senses, John, unlike _some people_, so you see, I am fine, in fact I've never been better, so just_ leave_. _Me_. _Alone_," he hissed, glaring at him.

John and Amelia stared at him, both completely shocked, "Yeah," John managed to recover after a moment, clearing his throat as he looked away from his flatmate, "Okay, okay," he tried to settle back into his chair while Sherlock glared into the fireplace, breathing heavily, "And why would you listen to me?" he said sarcastically, shaking his head, "I'm just your friend".

"I don't have _friends_," he sneered, almost spitting the last word out angrily. Amelia sighed, looking away.

"Nah," John said softly, turning back to him, "Wonder why?" he cleared his throat and stood, walking out of the room.

Amelia watched him leave, feeling half tempted herself to go outside for some fresh air, but she decided to stay behind and speak with Sherlock instead, regardless of whether or not doing so might very well end up getting her own head bitten off, too. She looked at the side of Sherlock's face, his eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace, the light playing off his pale face, "Go after him and apologise," she told him firmly, her voice soft.

Sherlock scoffed, "Why are you even still here?"

"You're my friend and no matter what you might try to say, I know for a fact that you do care about John and I, you're just angry at yourself for being so emotional. And there's nothing wrong about being afraid, fear is wisdom in the face of danger, as my Dad used to say," the corner of her mouth twitched very slightly, casting him a sideways look, "I'm not nearly as easy to scare off with shouting or insults, Holmes, I did grow up in a house with my brother, remember? That, and you haven't let go of my hand for the past several minutes".

He actually blinked and looked down at their hands still interlocked, seeming to have completely forgotten about it as he quickly released her hand, "I am not apologising," he muttered, looking away from her.

She rolled her eyes, happily stretching her fingers to try and get the blood flowing in them again, "You sound like a child throwing a tantrum now," she remarked lightly, "You saw the hound, it completely goes against all logic, and it spun you out. That's no excuse to go shouting at us simply for trying to help".

"You believe me?"

"I believe that you saw something out there, whether or not the hound really exists is still under investigation," she replied after a moment of consideration. She didn't believe that a super-dog was running around the moors, but the fact still remained that now two people had witnessed it and that meant that there had to be _something_ out there, "Maybe John's right," she continued carefully, "It was very dark and spooky…"

"I know what I saw," he snapped angrily, sending her a dark glare.

She winced and nodded, "Okay, understood, just…no more shouting tonight, please?" she sighed tiredly, giving him a hopeful smile, "It's bad enough that you've upset John, I really don't want to be upset with you either," he frowned at her, looking genuinely confused by her, "What?" she asked, wondering why he was looking at her like that. She was half tempted to ask if she had a leaf in her hair or something.

"You're still here," he said after a moment, still looking at her strangely, "John stormed off, but you…" he shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her as if she was a puzzle to solve, "Why?"

"I told you, I'm used to being around shouting…"

"No. You obviously disapprove of what I said, and what I said could be taken as an insult to you, as well, and yet…you're still here".

"Maybe I'm just tired of walking around in the cold tonight?" she shrugged, crossing her ankles, remembering that she hadn't swapped her gumboots over for her boots since driving back to the pub, "Or perhaps I understand what it's like to live in a world based on logic and reasoning, only to be faced with something that defies that logic".

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her, almost mockingly, "Oh, you _understand_?"

"Don't be so condescending, Holmes," she shot him a quick look, but her tone was light as she spoke, "And yes, I do," she sat up straighter in her chair and leaned forward, meeting his eyes, "You have no idea what it's like, waking up every morning to remember what your brother's done, the people he's hurt and his twisted little games he's played with your closest friends. He's threatened my friends and I, kidnapped me, almost blown me up with a bomb, I never even expected to reach my thirtieth birthday. And that's my brother," she smiled bitterly, her voice growing grim, "My own _twin_ and I am completely disgusted and horrified to call him that, but it's the truth, regardless of how much I try to hide it. He's always going to be my brother. But…" she paused, taking a deep breathe, "Despite all of that, there's still always going to be a part of me that loves him, who only want to see the best for him because he's my_ brother_. We played together, suffered through all those God awful Christmas dinners at the Grandparents house that always resulted in at least one family fight, our Mother's death…all those things that happened before he became what he is today. It defies logic, as a detective I shouldn't feel anything but hatred for him, but I can't not still have even just a tiny part of me who loves him. Don't get me wrong," she added quickly, "I want nothing more than to see him behind bars and would happily throw the key away personally, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't regret that it had to be that way".

"Sentiment," Sherlock murmured, but he didn't sound nearly as disgusted as he might have earlier, in fact he seemed quite thoughtful, and even a little saddened, "It will get you killed in the end, Amelia".

She smiled grimly, "I've always known that James would be the one to kill me," she admitted quietly.

"And that doesn't bother you?" he frowned, eyeing her face with an odd expression.

"I know no different since I was eighteen".

"You don't have a death wish".

"No, I love my life, I really do. I've always wanted to solve crimes and try to make a difference, working with you and John makes me feel like I might just be doing that, but I'm under no illusion to think that I will survive what James has planned, whatever that might be. I'm too much trouble and too big of a risk to him personally for him to let me live in the end".

Sherlock stared at her for a long moment, as if he was seeing her for the first time with a genuine expression of surprise and even, just a little bit, respect, for what she couldn't imagine. It was the truth, James couldn't have anything to lead back to him and she was a huge risk, she supposed that it had worked in his favour for so long that she had tried everything she could to hid their relationship, from changing her last name to even changing the colour of her eyes with blue contact lens, but things were coming to an end, she could feel it. Whatever James was planning to do with Sherlock, she knew she would be unlikely to survive it and knowing her brother, he would use her death to his advantage over Sherlock. She had already accepted it and she would face that moment when it came, but she wouldn't stop living or hoping for more. She wouldn't let James win completely.

"You're different to what I first expected," Sherlock said suddenly, making Amelia blink and look at him in confusion, "I thought you were just like all the rest of them, one of those people who walk around and they don't see what's right in front of them. Most of them would crumble at the idea of being killed, but you…" he shook his head, "You see it, all of it, just like I do and accept your own death as if it's already happened".

Amelia raised her eyebrows teasingly at him, as if they hadn't just been seriously talking about her possible murder in the future, "Is that admiration I hear in your voice, Sherlock?" she asked playfully.

The corner of his mouth rose, "Perhaps it's concern for your mental stability".

"No," she shook her head, laughter filling her voice as she leaned towards him again, her eyes dancing, "Admiration, definitely".

"You seem very sure of yourself".

"Well, I am a detective," she shrugged, smiling widely.

"Possibly a mentally unstable one," Sherlock remarked teasingly, actually going along with the banter, "Is Lestrade aware of this?"

"He's Scotland Yard so…no," she laughed, pretending to think about it for a moment. He began laughing to, and Amelia couldn't help but feel grateful for the distraction from less than pleasant thoughts of her possible death at the hands of her brother. She might have accepted that she would possibly die, but that didn't mean she wanted to think about it. Her laughter began to fade, leaving her slightly breathless and her cheeks arching from smiling as she looked back to Sherlock, "What was that bit about not having any friends?" she raised her eyebrows slyly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I still stand by that".

"Would it really kill you to admit that you were wrong?"

"I wouldn't know," he smiled faintly, meeting her eyes, "I've never had to before".

Amelia laughed and shook her head, reaching across to lightly whack his arm, "Idiot," she muttered, doing her best impression of him. She began to pull her hand away again, but his reflexes were faster and he managed to grab her hand, leaning towards her. She blinked, surprised by how close she realised they actually were sitting, she could even feel his breathe on her face as they stared at each other for a moment, not moving or trying to distance themselves. She could feel his pulse speed up just slightly in his wrist and knew that hers would be racing too. She could feel herself moving forward as she noticed his eyes flicker just briefly down to her lips…no, she couldn't.

She swallowed and struggled to pull herself back, mentally shouting at herself for just about kissing one of her best friends and colleagues. She didn't have a clue what Sherlock was thinking or how he even really felt about her, but she knew that getting romantically involved with someone you worked with, and as closely as they did, would only lead to causing trouble in the end. The last thing she ever wanted was loss their friendship over a kiss, or to complicate things further. She didn't even know how she felt about him, so she couldn't imagine that Sherlock would be any the wiser about his own feelings when he struggled with them enough as they was.

Amelia gave him a smile, pretending as if nothing had just happened, "You know what," she said, and stood from her chair as Sherlock watched her with an almost thoughtful expression, "I'm going to bed".

"Night," he said distractedly, looking back at the fireplace.

She hesitated as she began to walk away, "You're going to be okay without me?"

He glanced at her, rolling his eyes, "Yes, I think I can manage perfectly fine," he told her, a hint of exasperation entering his voice.

So, back to normal again, then. She didn't know whether she ought to feel relieved or slightly disappointed. She had rather liked this more teasing and friendly side of him.

_**I really do hope that Sherlock's not completely out of character at the end part there, I'm still not entirely sure even after all this time of writing these stories how to betray his character in a romantic sense without it coming off completely out of character, but hopefully I managed it even a little bit at the end there with a bit of teasing. Having said that, we almost got a kiss! Almost being the key word, but we are getting there and there will be a kiss before this story ends. Hopefully, the next chapter will be up much sooner than this one was, I've already written almost over three thousand words on it. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	9. Chapter 9The Hounds of Baskerville,Part4

_**The Hounds of Baskerville, Part 4**_

The next morning, Amelia woke to the beeping sound of her alarm going off on her bedside table. She groaned and blindly reached over to turn the noise off, opening her eyes, only to shut them almost instantly with a hiss of pain as she remembered that she hadn't closed the floral curtains the night before, filling the room with bright morning sunrays. Slowly, she opened her eyes, squinting at the glare until she could actually keep her eyes open against it without blinking in discomfort and tossed her blanket off herself, pausing to stretch her back and neck. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that her bed was actually quite comfortable, though she wasn't a huge fan on the floral wallpaper and matching curtains.

She stood and wondered over to where she had left her suitcase sitting open on the floor by the bathroom door and began to pick out a pair of black Converse's, black leggings, a yellow woollen scarf, and a long jumper with three slightly darker shades of blue on the knitted fabric. She would wear the same coat and earrings that she had the day before, only now paired with a diamond and pearl pendant on a short silver chain. She quickly showered and dressed, leaving her hair to dry naturally into waves, applying a bit of eyeliner, and rose pink lipstick. Even in the countryside she had to make an effort with her appearance, she was working on a case, after all.

Satisfied, Amelia grabbed her handbag off the chest of drawers on the wall opposite to her bed and heading for the door, stepping out just as John was closing the door across the hallway from her, almost running straight into each other, "Oh, hello," she said, surprised.

"Morning," John smiled, moving aside as she closed her own door and stepped into the rather narrow hallway, "Have you seen Sherlock?" he asked, almost sounding hesitate.

"Not since I left him sitting down stairs in front of the fire," she replied, trying hard not to think about why she had left him there in the first place, shaking her head. She paused, frowning at him, "Why?"

He shrugged, "I didn't see him last night when I went to bed," he smiled faintly, looking as if he wanted to shake his head, "He sent me to try talking to Henry's therapist".

"That's not exactly the apology I was trying to get him to give you, but it's getting there. How did it go?"

"I didn't get anything," he sighed, "I was interrupted before I could get her to talk".

"That's a shame," a small, sly smile crossed her face as she glanced at him, "Did you at least get her number?"

"How did you know I even liked her?"

"Would you find it insulting if I said that she was a woman?"

John stared at her, surprised, "Thanks," he muttered sarcastically, shaking his head at her.

Amelia smiled a little apologetically, patting his shoulder, "That might have been a little mean," she said, "How about we get some breakfast and go for a walk?" she suggested, raising her eyebrows at him, "Sherlock might have turned up by then".

….

After breakfast, John and Amelia decided to go and wait in the churchyard just up the road from the pub. It was a nice little stone built church with plenty of headstones scattered around, some so old that they were now unreadable and leant on their sides, while others were only recently placed there. John took a seat on the steps of a large war memorial in the middle of the yard, looking over his notes in his notepad, while Amelia sat beside him, checking her phone.

The kissing gate at the entrance of the yard squealed slightly and footsteps sounded, catching Amelia's attention. She looked up to see Sherlock making his way down the path towards them with his hands buried in his coats pocket. She lightly nudged John's side and he looked up, his expression instantly growing uncomfortable as he caught sight of Sherlock approaching, quickly tucking his notepad back inside his jacket.

Sherlock came to a stop before them, looking almost as uncomfortable was John, "Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?" he asked John, avoiding his eyes.

"No," John shook his head, standing and starting to walk away. Amelia climbed onto her feet, following suit.

"U, M, Q, R, A, wasn't it?" Sherlock questioned, recalling John trying to tell him in front of the fireplace before he had…well, snapped. He began to follow behind Amelia and John as they continued walking through the churchyard, "UMQRA…" he tried.

"Nothing".

"U.M.Q…"

"Look, forget it," John sighed, waving a dismissive hand, "It's…I thought I was on to something," Amelia looked at his back curiously, raising her eyebrows. Was it just her, or did the back of his neck look a little pink? "I wasn't".

"Are you quite sure?" Amelia asked, eyeing his back.

"Yeah".

"How about Louise Mortimer?" Sherlock cut in, "Did you get anywhere with her?"

"No".

"Too bad," he remarked causally, before raising his eyebrows almost teasingly, "Did you get any _information_?"

Amelia laughed quietly as John smiled faintly, glancing back over his shoulder to Sherlock, still walking, "You being funny now?" he said.

Sherlock shrugged, "I thought it might break the ice a bit".

"Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice".

He sighed heavily, "John…" he began, his voice softer than before.

"It's fine".

"No, wait," Sherlock shook his head, glancing at Amelia, who gave him an encouraging nod. He turned back to John's back, "What happened last night…something happened to me, something I've not really experienced before…"

"Yes, you said: fear," John nodded, recalling the night before, "Sherlock Holmes got scared. You said".

Sherlock hurried forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop and forcing him to turn back around to face him and Amelia, "No, no, no," he shook his head again, "It was more than that, John. It was_ doubt_," he explained, "I've _always _been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night".

"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster," John frowned at him, glancing at Amelia, who could only shrug.

"No, I _can't_ believe that," he agreed, and smiled bitterly for a moment, "But I did see it, so the question is: how? _How_?"

"I was thinking," Amelia said thoughtfully, catching both men's attention, "What if it was some sort of drug?" she suggested, having spent two hours considering all the possibilities the night before, not having been able to sleep until she had come to one of the more logical conclusions her brain had managed to come up with. She shrugged, looking to Sherlock, who was looking at her strangely, "That could be one possibility, far more plausible then an actual mutant dog running around the moors".

John looked between Sherlock and Amelia, who seemed to have completely forgotten that he was even standing there, and raised his eyebrows at them both "Yeah, right, good," he cleared his throat, drawing both of their attention to him, "So you've got something to go on, then?" he nodded to them, "Good luck with that," he turned and began to stroll away from them, towards the church's side gate.

"Just say something nice, Sherlock," Amelia whispered quickly to Sherlock, casting a quick glace to John's retreating back, "Please, for John".

Sherlock sighed, meeting her eyes briefly before looking back over to John, "Listen, what I said before, John," he called after him, actually sounding sincere, "I meant it," John stopped, slowly turning around to look back to them, "I don't have friends," he paused, glancing at Amelia and back to John, "I've just got _two_".

John looked away from them, seeming to be considering his statement as Amelia, or though surprised, gave Sherlock a small smile. John nodded slightly, glancing back to Sherlock, "Right," he said, and continued walking towards the gate again.

Amelia began to follow after him as Sherlock remade where he was, his eyes widening in realisation as his head snapped back up, "John? John!" he shouted suddenly, running after him, grabbing Amelia's hand as he passed her. He ignored her startled yelp and pulled her along with him, "You are amazing! You are fantastic!"

"Yes, all right!" John called back to him, not stopping as they stepped out of the churchyard and onto the street, "You don't have to overdo it".

Sherlock and Amelia caught up to him, Sherlock finally releasing the brunet's hand as he overtook John, walking backwards in front of him and Amelia, "You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable," he said, turning back around and falling into step alongside his two companions.

"Cheers…" he blinked, realising what he had said, "What?"

"Yes, I'm rather confused myself," Amelia admitted, frowning at Sherlock.

Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook, jotting something down onto it as he spoke, "Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others," he remarked.

"Hang on, you were saying 'sorry' a minute ago," John shot him a look, "Don't spoil it now. Go on, what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?"

Sherlock came to a stop outside the front door of the pub, turning around to face them with his notebook open with the word 'Hound' written across the page.

"Right…" Amelia nodded slowly, trying to work out just what he was trying to get out.

He pulled the book back around to him, writing something on the same page, "But what if it's _not_ a word?" he suggested, and Amelia paused, her eyes widening at the thought. She had never even considered the possibility before, "What if it is individual letters?"

He flipped the book back around to show the word now written as 'H.O.U.N.D..

"You think it's an acronym?" John said, frowning.

He slipped the book back inside his pocket, "Absolutely no idea but…" he trailed off as he turned to face the open pub door, catching sight of something.

Amelia followed his gaze and blinked in surprise, catching sight of a very familiar older man standing by the front desk of the pub with grey trousers and a black shirt on, his eyes covered by a pair of sunglasses, and his skin looking very tan. Well, this was rather unexpected.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?" Sherlock demanded, storming across to the door, and into the room, John and Amelia right behind him.

"Well, nice to see you too," Lestrade said sarcastically as they reached him, "I'm on holiday, would you believe?"

"No, I wouldn't," he scoffed.

"Hullo, John, Amelia," he greeted, nodding to them as he reached up to slip his glasses off.

"Greg," John replied, surprised to see him. Sherlock threw him a frown.

"This is unexpected," Amelia commented, smiling at Lestrade, moving to lean against the counter of the bar.

"I heard you were in the area," Lestrade informed them, raising his eyebrows around at them, "What are you up to? You after the Hound of Hell like on the telly?" he broke into a smile, focusing on Sherlock.

"I'm waiting for an explanation, Inspector," Sherlock cut in, still eyeing Lestrade, "Why are you here?"

"I've told you: I'm on holiday".

"You're brown as a nut! You're clearly just back from your '_holidays_'".

"As excuses go, it's not a very good one, Greg," Amelia said to him, amused, not noticing the frown Sherlock shot at her at Lestrade's name, "That tan practically speaks for itself".

Lestrade tried to look nonchalant, "Yeah, well I fancied _another_ holiday," he defended himself.

Sherlock sighed and looked away, realisation crossing his face, "Oh, this is Mycroft, isn't it?" he muttered, annoyed.

"No, look…"

"Of _course_ it is!" he exclaimed, turning back to them as Lestrade grabbed his beer off the bar counter, "One mention of Baskerville and he sends down my handler to…to spy on me incognito," he scoffed, raising his eyebrows at Lestrade as he took a sip of his drink, "Is that why you're calling yourself Greg?"

John and Amelia frowned, "That's his _name_," John told Sherlock, pointing back over to Lestrade.

Sherlock blinked, startled, "Is it?"

"Unbelievable," Amelia muttered, shaking her head in amazement that a person could know someone for years and yet have no clue what their first name was.

"_Yes_," Lestrade nodded, rolling his eyes, "If you'd ever bothered to find out. Look, I'm not your handler…" he shook his head, lifting his drink up to his mouth, "And I don't just do what your brother tells me".

"Actually, you could be _just_ the man we want," John suddenly said, looking thoughtfully at Lestrade.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, glancing at John as Amelia raised her eyebrows, curious.

"Well, I've not been idle, Sherlock," John replied, rummaging around in his trouser pocket for a moment as he looked back over to Lastrade, "I think I might have found something," he pulled out a slip of paper and unfolded it, "Here," he held the paper out for Sherlock and Amelia to see, the brunet realising that it was the sales invoice for the rather large order of meat that John had stolen from the bar when they had first arrived, "Didn't know if it was relevant, starting to look like it might be," he nodded to down the paper, "_That_ is an awful lot of meat for a vegetarian restaurant".

"Excellent," Sherlock remarked softly.

John looked across to Lestrade, "Nice scary inspector from Scotland Yard who can put in a few calls might come in very handy," he turned and hit his hand down the little bell sitting on the counter, missing the look Sherlock, Amelia, and Lastrade exchanged, "Shop!"

….

Lestrade was sitting at a table in the small snug area off the side of the bar, going over a large book full of paperwork from previous invoices, slowly turning the pages as he read down the pages, while the owners, Gary and Billy watched him nervously from across the table. Amelia and John stood back by the doorway, watching, Amelia trying hard to resist the temptation to complain like a child about how long it was taking to simply find an invoice trail of meat in a vegetarian restaurant. Surly that wouldn't take too long. Sherlock was further up from them, pouring a stream of coffee into a cup from a small coffee machine and stirring the contents. He loudly tapped the spoon against the cup before sitting it aside on the saucer, and picked up the cup, carrying it over to John.

John blinked, raising his eyebrows at the offered cup in surprise, "What's this?" he asked.

"Coffee," Sherlock replied quietly, "I made coffee".

"You made coffee?" Amelia said slowly, her eyebrows rising as she stared at him. He had to be up to something, Sherlock didn't even make his own coffee at home let alone for anyone else, "I'm sorry, but did the Universe just implode?" she pretended to check out the window.

"You _never_ make coffee," John agreed, looking at Sherlock strangely.

"I just did," Sherlock argued, still holding the cup out towards his flatmate, "Don't you want it?"

"You don't have to keep apologising," he told him, and Sherlock looked away with a hurt expression. Amelia narrowed her eyes, even more suspicious as John, seeming slightly guilty by his expression, took the cup and saucer, "Thanks," he muttered, taking a mouthful as Sherlock smiled happily, "Mm…" he grimaced, lowering the cup, "I don't take sugar…" Sherlock looked away again with the hurt expression, while Amelia watched on with fascination, trying to figure out what the hell Sherlock was up to. John noticed his face again and guilty took another longer drink of his overly sweet coffee, all the while Sherlock watched him.

"These records go back nearly two months," Lestrade said to Gary and Billy, glancing over to them from the book he was examining.

John lowered the cup back onto the saucer, grimacing again at the taste, "That's nice," he nodded to Sherlock, "That's good," he turned away to place the cup down on the table behind him, not noticing the way Sherlock's eyes remade glued to him, glancing quickly down at the cup, as if checking he had really drunk it.

"What the hell are you doing, Holmes?" Amelia whispered in Sherlock's ear, narrowing her eyes at him.

He meet her eyes and, just for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched before he held a finger up to his mouth, "Shh," he hushed, throwing John's back a pointed look.

"Is that when you had the idea, after the TV show went out?" Lestrade was still questioning Gary and Billy, clasping his hands on the closed front of the book.

"It's me," Billy, the thinner of the two, confessed, "It was me," he turned to his partner beside him, shaking his head with his arms crossed across his chest, "I'm sorry, Gary, I couldn't help it. I had a bacon sandwich at Cal's wedding and one thing just led to another…"

Lestrade rolled his eyes in disbelief at what he was hearing, while Sherlock and Amelia smiled faintly in amusement, "Nice try," Lestrade interrupted Billy.

"Look," Gary began, sighing heavily, "We were just trying to give things a bit of a boost, you know?" he told them, seeming to realise that there was little point to lying now, "A great big dog run wild up on the moor, it was heaven sent. It was like having our own Loch Ness Monster".

"Where do you keep it?"

"There's an old mineshaft," Gary explained, "It's not too far. It was all right there…"

"'Was?'" Amelia frowned, eyeing the man's back, "Past tense?"

He sighed again, "We couldn't control the bloody thing," he said warily, shaking his head, "It was vicious," he paused, releasing another deep breathe as he fiddled with his fingers, "And then, a month ago, Billy took him to the vet and, er…you know".

John moved forward, "It's dead?" he asked, looking between the two men with a deep frown.

"Put down," he agreed, nodding.

"Yeah," Billy added, "No choice," he looked back across to Lestrade, "So it's over".

"It was just a joke, you know?"

"Oh, yeah, hilarious," Lestrade nodded sarcastically, standing as his expression grew slightly angry as he looked back down to the two men, "You've nearly driven a man out of his mind".

He turned and walked out of the room, shaking his head to himself as Amelia and John followed after him, making their way back through the bar, heading towards the front door.

"You know, he's actually pleased you're here?" John remarked to Lestrade as they walked, clearly referring to Sherlock. Lestrade raised his eyebrows and threw him a disbelieving look over his shoulder, making him shrug, "_Secretly_ pleased".

"_Very_ secretly," Amelia muttered, more to herself then to John or Lestrade. She wasn't entirely sure she agreed with John there.

"Is he?" Lestrade said to John, his hands inside his trouser pockets as they walked out the front door and out onto the empty street, "That's nice. I suppose he likes having all the same faces back together," he came to a stop, turning to face Amelia and John, "Appeals to his…his…" he trailed off, trying to come up with the right word.

"Asperger's?" John helpfully supplied, just as Sherlock walked out of the pub door and joined them, eyeing them suspiciously, having only just managed to catch the last word.

"So, you believe him about having the dog destroyed?" Lestrade asked, looking to Sherlock, quickly changing the subject.

Sherlock shrugged, "No reason not to," he replied.

"Well, hopefully there's no harm done. Not quite sure what I'd charge him with anyway. I'll have a word with the local Force," he gave them a nod and started to move away from them, still facing them, "Right, that's that, then. Catch you later," he smiled, "I'm enjoying this! It's nice to get London out of your lungs!"

They watched as Lestrade turned and walked off down the road away from them as John looked back to Sherlock and Amelia, "So that was their dog that people saw on the moor?" he questioned, casting a quick glance back towards the pub.

"Looks like it," Sherlock agreed.

"But that wasn't what _you_ saw," he frowned, shaking his head, "That wasn't just an ordinary dog".

"No," he nodded, and he looked away from them, his gaze growing distant, "It was immense," he told them, his voice growing slightly softer as Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, certain that he was up to something. First with the coffee and now this? It was just too strange and out of character for Sherlock, "…had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John," he continued as John listened intently, "Its whole body was glowing, John. Its _whole_ body was glowing," he paused for a moment with a shudder, inhaling deeply as he began to walk off towards where they had parked the car around the side of the pub, Amelia and John following close behind him, "I've got a theory but I need to get back into Baskerville to test it".

"And how do you plan to do that?" Amelia raised her eyebrows, now more convinced than ever that Sherlock was up to something, and it seemed to somehow involve John, who was completely oblivious to anything going on with his flatmate.

"Can't pull off the ID trick again," John commented, nodding along with her.

"Might not have to," Sherlock replied, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket and clicking it. He scrolled down the screen before selecting something, and lifting it up to his ear, "Hello, brother dear," he smirked as he spoke over the phone, John and Amelia exchanging a quick look, "How _are_ you?"

….

After finishing up his call to Mycroft, Sherlock drove them back to Baskerville, coming to a stop outside the first gate as one of the soldiers neared the car with a sniffer dog, while another armed guard approached the driver's window, "Afternoon, sir," the solider greeted Sherlock, his eyes roaming quickly through the window over John and Amelia before returning his focus back to Sherlock, "If you could turn the engine off," Sherlock handed him his ID pass through the window and switched the car's engine off, "Thank you," the solider nodded, taking the pass and moving away to check it over the computer system.

"Amelia and I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside," Sherlock told John quietly as the sniffer dog began to check around the car outside.

"Right," John said.

"Which means you'll have to start the search for the hound".

"Okay".

"Why do I have to go with you, Sherlock?" Amelia asked curiously, eyeing the back of his curly head with a suspicious expression, having taken note that, once again, he seemed to be up to something that John was still seemingly oblivious to. He didn't need her to go with him to see the Major, if anything it would be more logical to send her off to investigate the hound, even by herself so that they could cover more ground. So why was Sherlock, one of the most logical people she had ever meet, being so illogical when it came to a case?

Sherlock shot her a quick, annoyed look over his shoulder, "You and I are partners," he said firmly with a slight grimace, his expression telling her to just go along with it or else, "We will see the Major together," he turned back to John as Amelia simply looked amused, seeing straight through that little lie. No, he was defiantly up to something and whatever it was, he clearly wanted John all alone, "In the labs; Stapleton's first," he instructed John as the solider returned with the ID card, handing it through the window to him, "Could be dangerous".

John looked away and smiled slightly as the gate slide open. Sherlock restarted the car, driving off though the gate, heading towards the base.

….

The Major's office was a small, darkened room that was a big contrast from the white laboratory just outside the door. Paperwork was covering the walls and the desk top that was pushed up against the wall, while across the office was a bookcase lined with volumes of books, most seeming to be non-fiction or politically based. Barrymore was sitting back in his swivel chair, facing Amelia and Sherlock as they stood with the door behind them, both trying very hard not to grow irritated at the Major's snarky attitude at the idea of letting them wonder around the base. John had already left to investigate Stapleton's lab.

"Oh, you know I'd love to," Barrymore was saying, sneering at them, "I'd _love_ to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, growing impatient, "It's a simple enough request, Major," he said, clearly trying to make an effort not to snap.

"I've never heard of anything so bizarre," he scoffed.

"You're to give us twenty four hours," Sherlock told him, his tone leaving no room for argument, "It's what I've…" he paused, seeming to decide against saying something else as he went on, "…negotiated".

"Not a _second more_," Barrymore warned them sternly, glaring coldly, "I may have to comply with this order but I don't have to like it," he began to spin his chair back around to face his desk as Sherlock and Amelia exchanged a look, moving towards the office door, "I don't know what you expect to find here anyway," he shook his head.

Amelia paused in the doorway to look back over to the man, Sherlock held the door open for her in a surprising act of chivalry, though it was slightly ruined by the impatient expression on his face, "The truth is always a good place to start," she remarked lightly.

He spun his chair back around to face them, "About what?" he asked, frowning slightly before something seemed to occur to him, "Oh, I see," he leant back in his chair, running his eyes down their clothing, lingering on both of their black coats they were wearing, "The big coats should have told me," he said snidely as Sherlock and Amelia both frowned in confusion, glancing at each other and down at their fronts, "You're one of the conspiracy lot, aren't you?" he smiled sarcastically as Sherlock rolled his eyes and Amelia sighed, exasperated, "Well, then, go ahead. Seek them out: the monsters, the death rays, the aliens…"

"Oh?" Amelia put on a mock curious look, unable to resist, "Have you got a few Dalek's stashed away here? Maybe even a Time Lord?" Sherlock made a suspicious cough sound in his throat as Barrymore rolled his eyes. She simply smiled at him, shrugging, "Just curious, I would rather be prepared if London is going to be invaded next Christmas".

Barrymore leaned forward secretively, "A couple," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching very slightly, "Crash landed here in the sixties. We call them Abbott and Costello," he straightened and began to turn his chair back around to face his desk once more, "Good luck, Mr Holmes, Miss Wilson".

Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance at the dismissal, while Amelia was simply relieved to be able to leave at last. The Major reminded her far too much of a female version of an old Head Mistress she had had at school, but at least Barrymore seemed to have a bit more of a sarcastic sense of humour then her teacher had had. They quickly left the office, Sherlock closing the door behind him as they began to stride out of the white lab and out the door, making their way down yet another long, brightly lit corridor.

"Okay," Amelia began after a moment, simply having been following Sherlock with no idea of where they were going next. They had already passed the hallway leading to Stapleton's lab, so they weren't going to join John, "Care to explain what you're up to?"

"An experiment".

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I gathered that, and I'm guessing that it's on John?"

Sherlock came to a stop by a door labelled 'Security Only' and pushed it open, pausing to glance back at her, "Well done, Amelia," he said, not sounding the slightest bit surprised that she had worked it out.

"Mind explaining it to me?" she sighed. Honestly, sometimes it was like pulling teeth to try and get Sherlock to explain things, he just seemed to automatically assume that everyone should know.

"I have a theory. The sugar, Henry's sugar".

"I don't…" she stopped, her eyes widening in realisation, "Oh, of course! The only different food that the three of us have eaten was the sugar at Henry's house. John doesn't take sugar in his coffee".

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded, and walked through the doorway, Amelia following after him into a darkened room that had a control panel with computer monitors set up on it, each one playing a different security camera feed on it while beneath them was a control panel with two swivel chairs for the security staff to watch the feeds from. However, the room was completely empty, and Sherlock made his way over to one of the chairs and took a seat, "I need to conduct an experiment to see what effect seeing the 'hound' has on an ordinary mind," he informed her, completely unconcerned as he settled comfortably into his chair in front of one of the screens.

"On John?" she stared at him, unable to quite believe what she was hearing, "You're conducting a completely unethical experiment on your own flatmate that will undoubtedly terrify him, and that's fine with you?"

He rolled his eyes at her, not looking away from the screen, "It's not the first time, and yes. You're a detective, Amelia, you should understand".

"What do you mean 'it's not the first?' You've experiment on him before?"

"Just a mild sedative. It was nothing, he only missed a day…"

"A day?" Amelia exclaimed, "Where the hell was I when this was going on?" she asked, frowning in confusion, trying to recall if she had ever seen John even ill, let alone a sleep for an entire day.

"You were away for Paris Fashion Week," Sherlock replied, waving her off, still seeming completely unconcerned.

She slowly moved to take the second seat beside him, eyeing him with a deep frown, "You haven't done anything like that to me, have you?" she questioned, a little worried now.

Sherlock let out a long suffering sigh, clearly growing annoyed at her constant questions, "If you must know, I conducted an experiment to see if you would recognise a different shade of lipstick from your preferred shade. I wanted to know just how good you were at distinguishing between similar shades of colours. You did well, you managed to locate your usual shade from several others".

She continued to eye him for a long moment, having the strongest feeling that that was only one of the times that he had experiment on her in the past, but something on the screen he had his eyes glued to caught her attention, making her sigh heavily. John was on the screen, wondering around the first laboratory that they had been taken to before meeting Stapleton, looking around the dimly lit, empty room. The cages that had housed a few of the animals that they were testing on had been covered with large, white clothes, blocking the animals from view.

"So, you're going to try and manipulate John's brain into believing that the hound's in the room with him?" she looked back across to Sherlock, taking note of a small microphone sitting on the panel before him.

"Yes".

She gave him a disapproving look, not liking his little plan in the slightest as she turned her attention back on the screen to watch John entering a doorway across the room that they had first seen Doctor Frankland come out of. John disappeared inside the room for a few minutes before returning, pushing the door open and stepping out, just as Sherlock hit a button on the control panel and a large arc light on a stand lit up, hitting John directly in his eye with a blinding blast of light. He stumbled back slightly, cringing and trying to shield his eyes with his hand, blinking repeatedly, when Sherlock hit a second button and set of a horribly loud alarm that bleared throughout the room, disorientating John even more as he tried covering his ears.

"I think that's enough, Holmes," Amelia said sternly, her eyes flickering between John on the screen and Sherlock, who was watching the entire thing unfold intently, "At the very least, turn that alarm off before you do some permeant hearing damage to him".

"Not yet," Sherlock muttered, his finger hovering over the button to turn the alarm and lights off, waiting.

John managed to get back across the room and over to the lift, still visibly cringing and pained by the alarm still ringing loudly. He got out his temporary ID card that the three of them had all been issued and tried swiping it on the device beside the lift, only to be denied access. He stopped and stared at it, before tyring again, only to be refused again, and then again for a third time. Sherlock hit the button and the lights and alarm disappeared at once, leaving only the red emergency lights on, plunging John almost into complete silence.

Amelia toyed with the cuff of her jumper, her eyes fixed on the screen as John looked around at the darkened room, his expression almost impossible to make out in the darkness. Her heart was racing, almost as if she was in the room with him, feeling horribly guilty that she was just sitting there while he was being psychologically manipulated and frightened. It wasn't fair, and she really couldn't wait until John found out what Sherlock had done. She was half hoping that John would punch him because she was certainly half tempted to.

John seemed to reach for something in his jacket before a flashlight lit up in his hand, casting a beam of light around the room, "_Hello_?" he called out, his voice sounding faint over the monitor. He paused, reaching up to rub his eyes, seeming to be still hurting him after getting blinded by the light, before looking back up. Slowly, he began to walk towards the covered cages, hesitating to shine his torch light around at the room, almost nervously, before turning back to the cages. He grabbed the edge of the cloth and pulled it up, revealing an empty cage.

He suddenly spun around, shining the torch around widely, as if startled by a sound too soft for the speakers on the camera to pick up. A moment passed before he turned back to the cages, moving on to the next cage and grabbing the edge of the cloth, whipping it up to find another empty cage. He moved on to the next, pulling the cloth up, only to jump away from the cage in fright as a monkey within the cage screeched loudly and lunged at the bars. Even Amelia jumped slightly, startled, earning an almost amused look from Sherlock.

John stood back from the cage, seeming to be trying to gather a bit of composer after his fright as he slowly moved on to the last covered cage, only to pause as he shone his torch light down at something. Amelia frowned and glanced at Sherlock, about to ask, only to see him holding a small black tape recorder up to the microphone and pressing a button, making a savage growling sound go over the speaker and into the room.

John froze at the sound and slowly turned around, shining his torch around, trying to locate the source of the noise but, of course, there was nothing for him to see. As he looked around, he seemed to catch sight of the door at the end of the room and he hurried over to it, quickly trying to use his pass to open it, only to be denied access, just as he had been with the lift. He tried again, only to be refused and hit his hand against the locked door in frustration, clearly really starting to grow panicked.

Amelia bit her lip, hating having to watch as one of her friend's grew more and more distressed when she knew perfectly well that he was completely safe, but she didn't know what else to do. She knew that trying to get in the lab with John wouldn't work, Sherlock would have had it blocked off, and he certainly wouldn't let her intervene in his little experiment. She really did wish that she didn't know, even being locked up in the lab with John would be better than having to watch it all unfold.

John turned around from the door, shining his torch around as he reached inside his pocket with his free hand, and quickly pulled his phone out. The glow off his phone's screen lit up his face as he seemed to be dialling before lifting it up to his ear. Sherlock's phone began ringing, making Amelia look at him quickly, but Sherlock made no move towards his pocket to retrieve it.

The ringing stopped as John tried dialling another number, lifting it up to his ear, almost frantically now. The chorus to 'No Light, No Light' by Florence and The Machine began ringing out loudly, Amelia's currently favourite song, and she quickly grabbed her phone from her pocket, but Sherlock managed to catch her wrist before she could.

"This is cruel, Sherlock," she glared at him as the music continued.

"It's necessary," he argued, his voice light and quiet, and the music stopped as John seemed to have given up on her, too.

"No," she shook her head, still glaring at him, "It's not. I understand you're reasoning, but I completely disagree with your method," her eyes flickered down to where he was still lightly holding her wrist, "Do you mind?"

Sherlock blinked slightly and glanced down, quickly releasing her as if she had burnt him and turning back to focus on the monitor to see John moving around the lab, shining his torch around as he hurriedly made his way across the room to the second door, moving to try using his pass to open it, just as the tape recorder, which was still playing, emitted a low growling sound throughout the room and what sounded like claws skittling across the floor. John jumped and whirled around, shining his torch around, when another ominous growl rumbled through the room.

John, seeming to have reached his limit, took off running back across the room and over to the cages as fast as he could, pulling the door of one of the empty cages open, running inside, bent over as he slammed the door shut behind him and pulled the sheet back down to cover the cage to hide himself from view.

Amelia glanced over to Sherlock, "Can we stop now?" she asked, frowning deeply as another growl emitted from the recorder over the microphone.

"Not yet," Sherlock shook his head, almost seeming to be enjoying himself, his eyes still fixed on the screen where John was completely hidden from view within the cage, "He needs to _see_ the hound".

She sighed heavily and leant back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest as she turned her head to glare at the screen, "Oh, I so hope he punches you when this is over," she muttered darkly.

"I heard that".

"Good," she snapped.

He rolled his eyes at her, not seeming to be at all bothered by her anger as he reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly dialling John's phone and putting his on speaker so that they could both hear. John answered almost instantly.

"It's _here_," John breathed, sounding terrified and breathless, "It's in here with me".

"Where are you?" Sherlock questioned, trying hard not to let his smirk bleed into his voice.

"Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out. The big lab, the first lab that we saw," there was another growl and he made a loud, strangled noise in terror, his breathing growing heaver.

"John?" he called over the phone, the corner of his mouth twitching. Amelia glared at him, pinching herself through the leg of her leggings to stop herself from making a sound, "John?"

"Now, Sherlock," John practically begged, his voice even lower, making it hard to hear him, "_Please_".

"Holmes," Amelia hissed, keeping her voice low so that John wouldn't hear her, "Find out what you want, but finish this. _Now_".

Sherlock sighed heavily, exasperated, but he seemed to finally be listening to her as he turned back to the phone in his hand, "All right, Amelia and I will find you," he told John hurriedly, "Keep talking".

"I can't," John whispered, panicked, "It'll hear me".

"_Keep talking_," he ordered firmly, the corner of his mouth twitching, "What are you seeing?" he began to stand and head for the door, Amelia right behind him as they stepped outside the room and off down the hallway, heading towards the lab, "John?" he asked again when he didn't reply.

"Yes, I'm here," he said quietly, his breathing still sounding very loud over the phone.

"What can you see?"

"I don't know," John murmured, "I don't know, but I can hear it, though…"another growl sounded, "Can you hear that?" he gasped.

"Stay calm, stay calm," Sherlock said calmly, keeping his voice low, using his pass to unlock the laboratory door, carefully slipping inside the darkened room with Amelia, "Can you see it?" there was a pause, "Can you_ see_ it?" he tried again.

"No. I can…" he trailed off suddenly, his voice growing softer with absolute horror, "I can see it. It's here," Sherlock and Amelia carefully neared the cage that he was hiding inside, turning the loud speaker off the phone, "It's here," he said again, just as Sherlock grabbed the edge of the sheet covering the cage and pulled it up, Amelia switching the lights back on to reveal John sitting at the back of the cage with his phone in his hand, looking very pale and frightened.

Sherlock pulled the cage door open, "Are you alright?" he asked urgently with a mock concerned expression, leaning inside the cage.

John's eyes widened as he stared at Amelia and Sherlock, almost as if he couldn't quite believe that they were really there.

Amelia moved closer to the cage, genuinely worried as she held out a hand towards him, "John, are you okay?" she said worriedly.

"Jesus Christ…" John breathed, struggling to pull himself onto his feet, grabbing Amelia's offered hand to steady himself as he hurriedly stumbled out of the cage, still very panicked as he looked between his friends, "It was the _hound_!" he exclaimed, breathlessly, "It was_ here_, I swear it. It must…" he trailed off, finally looking around the brightly lit lab, only to realise that it wasn't anywhere in sight, nor was there anywhere that it could be hiding, "It must…" his voice grew high pitched as he looked back to Amelia and Sherlock, who were both watching his reaction, "Did…did…did you see it? You _must_ have!"

"John, it's okay," Amelia tried to calm him, holding up her hands in what she hoped was a soothing gesture, taking a step towards him, "Everything is going to be alright, you just need to…"

"NO IT'S _NOT_!" he suddenly shouted, completely frantic and close to being hysterical, making Amelia wince slightly, "IT'S NOT OKAY! I saw it," he insisted, "I was wrong!"

Sherlock eyed him for a moment as he broke off, breathing heavily, before shrugging, "Well, let's not jump to conclusions," he remarked calmly.

"What?"

He looked back to him, still quite calm, "What did you see?"

"I told you, I saw the hound".

"Huge, red eyes?"

"Yes".

"Glowing?"

"Yeah".

"No," Sherlock shook his head, smirking.

"What?" John asked, frowning, still panting for breathe.

Amelia sighed, throwing Sherlock a dark look, "He made that part up, about the glowing," she informed him as John, still frowning and seeming confused, looking around the room, "He planted the idea in your head so that you saw what you're brain expected to see," she glanced back over to Sherlock, crossing her arms across her chest, "He believes that we've all been drugged".

"Drugged?" John repeated breathlessly.

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked him, noticing how he still seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

He swallowed, looking down at himself, "'Course I can walk".

"Come on, then. It's time to lay this ghost to rest," Sherlock turned and began to head across to the door, using his access pass to open the door as John paused, looking behind him, before stumbling off after his flatmate and Amelia as they stepped out the door, heading off down a hallway to where they had already been told Stapleton was working.

Sherlock pushed the door open as Amelia and John stepped into the room behind him to find Stapleton standing in the middle of the room, behind a metal examination table where she was working on a fluffy white rabbit, while several cages where sitting against the wall with more white rabbits inside them.

"Oh," Stapleton said as she looked up to see them enter, "Back again? What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder, Doctor Stapleton," Sherlock replied calmly, sticking his hands inside his coat pockets, "Refined, cold-blooded murder".

Amelia reached back behind her to the light switch beside the door, and hit the switch. The lights went out, plunging the room into complete darkness, save for the green glow coming off every rabbit around the room. Amelia flipped the lights back on, seeing by the slightly guilty expression on Stapleton's face that they had made their point.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the women, clasping his hands behind his back, "Will _you_ tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?" he asked her, giving her a mocking smile.

Stapleton sighed, realising that she had been caught out, "Okay," she said warily, looking back over to him, "What do you want?"

"Can I barrow your microscope?"

…

Stapleton took them to another, slightly larger lab where Sherlock quickly set to work settling himself at one of the benches where a large microscope was already set up. Amelia and John sat further back from him at another lab bench, John still looking quite pale as he sat staring into space with a blank expression, his hand propping his head up, while Amelia simply watched Sherlock grinding what she assumed to be sugar, considering his theory, onto a glass slide before moving to check it under the scope.

"Are you _sure _you're okay?" Stapleton asked from where she was standing beside Amelia, eyeing John, who blinked and looked up, realising she was talking to him, "You look very peaky".

"No, I'm all right," John said, shaking his head, still seeming a little distracted.

"It was the GFP gene from a jellyfish, in case you're interested," she suddenly told them.

Amelia pulled her eyes off Sherlock to look at her, "Aequoria Victoria," she commented, making both John and Stapleton look at her in surprise. She shrugged, "I tend to either clean or watch TV documentaries when I can't sleep. I watched one on jellyfish once, which didn't exactly help me fall sleep, as I recall".

Stapleton nodded, smiling slightly, "You're right".

"Why would you want to make a rabbit glow, anyway?" John questioned, looking to Stapleton, seeing absolutely no benefit of having a glow in the dark rabbit.

"Why not?" she shrugged, "We don't ask questions like that here. It isn't done," Amelia glanced back over to Sherlock, sighing slightly as she noticed that he seemed to be growing increasingly annoyed as he picked up another slid, putting it under the scope. She would have offered to help, but she had only taken chemistry during her high school years, she had probably forgotten half of it by now, "There was a mix-up, anyway," Stapleton continued, "My daughter ended up with one of the lab specimens, so poor Bluebell had to go".

"Your compassion's overwhelming," John remarked, reaching across the bench behind him to pick up his tea cup.

"I know," she agreed, almost mockingly at herself, "I hate myself sometimes".

"I am curious," Amelia began thoughtfully, looking back across to the older women, raising her eyebrows, "If you have glowing rabbits, what else do you have around here?"

She sighed, "Listen, if you can imagine it, someone is probably doing it somewhere. Of _course_ they are".

John laughed slightly, "Cloning?" he suggested, waving a hand around as he sat his cup back down.

"Yes, of course. Dolly the Sheep, remember?"

"Human cloning?"

"Why not?"

He cleared his throat slightly, "What about animals? Not sheep…_big_ animals?"

"Size isn't a problem, not at all," Stapleton shook her head, "The only limits are ethics and the law, and both those things can be…very flexible," Amelia made a quiet, disapproving sound in her throat, but her eyes were still fixed on Sherlock, "But not here, not at Baskerville," she said firmly.

Suddenly, Sherlock stood and grabbed the slide he had been looking at beneath the scope, furiously hurling it across the room to smash against a wall, making the others jump, "It's not there!" he shouted.

"Jesus!" John exclaimed, startled.

"Seriously, Holmes?" Amelia sighed tiredly.

"Nothing there!" Sherlock continued angrily, pacing erratically as he completely ignored the others, "Doesn't make any sense!"

"What were you expecting to find?" Stapleton questioned, watching him almost apprehensively.

"A drug, of course," he said, impatiently, "There _has_ to be a drug, a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of_ anything_ in the sugar".

John had just lifted his cup up towards his mouth, only to pause, lowering it back down, "The sugar?" he frowned at him.

"That was his theory," Amelia nodded, eyeing Sherlock pacing, feeling a wave of disappointment wash over her that it hadn't been the sugar. It certainly would have made things easier, "And one that made sense".

"It's a simple process of elimination," Sherlock told them, mainly speaking to Stapleton and John, "I saw the hound, saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight, he saw it too but you and Amelia didn't," he gestured between them both, "Neither of you _saw_ it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from two things…" he focused on Amelia, "You took tea instead of coffee with sugar in it," he then focused on John, "While you don't take sugar in your coffee".

"The common dynamiter, sugar," Amelia said thoughtfully, before raising her eyebrows at Sherlock, "I'm assuming that you also tested the tea, just to make sure?"

"Yes, there was nothing in that either," he sighed, shooting a glare back towards the microscope, "I also took a sample of the coffee. It's just ordinary coffee".

"I see," John began slowly, "So…"

"I took it from Henry's kitchen, his sugar…" he moved back towards the microscope, leaning over it with such a frustrated expression on his face that Amelia was starting to worry that he might try throwing it off the table. He sighed heavily again, "It's perfectly all right".

"But maybe it's not a drug," John frowned at him.

"No, it _has_ to be a drug," he insisted, turning around and sitting on the stool, burying his head in his hands for a long moment, before lowering his hands, his eyes still firmly closed, "But how did it get into our systems? _How_?" he was silent for a long moment as the other's watched him, "There has to be something…" he muttered, slowly straightening, "…something…ah, something…" his eyes snapped open, looking off into the distance, "…something buried deep," he took a deep breath and suddenly pointed across to them, "Get out," he practically ordered them, waving his hand towards the door.

"Charming," Amelia rolled her eyes, not in the slightest bit surprised.

Stapleton blinked at him, confused, "What?"

"Get out," Sherlock told them, clearly not in the mood to argue, "I need to go to my mind palace".

John sighed heavily and sagged in his chair, exasperated as Amelia shook her head and stood, pulling her bag back over her shoulder.

"You're what?" Stapleton stared at him, even more confused now.

Sherlock completely ignored her, turning away from them to stare at a blank wall across room.

John shook his head and stood, "He's not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We might as well go," he said to Stapleton, grabbing his jacket and draping it over his arm as they began to head back towards the door.

Stapleton followed behind them, glancing back over to Sherlock, who seemed to be focusing on his breathing, "His _what_?" she asked them.

"He calls it his 'mind palace,'" Amelia explained to her, shaking her head as she cast a look back towards Sherlock, half tempted to see just what he would do if she stayed behind. She sincerely doubted he would even notice once he had completely zooned out, but decided that it would probably be best not to provoke him when it could lead to a big breakthrough in the case. Plus, she really wanted a hot cup of tea, "It's a memory technique or a memory map, if you will," she shrugged.

"You plot a map with a location," John continued after Amelia, glancing at Stapleton, "It doesn't have to be a real place, and then you deposit memories there that…" they came to a stop as he looked back towards Sherlock, who had his eyes closed, "Theoretically, you can never forget anything, all you have to do is find your way back to it".

"So this imaginary location can be anything, a house or a street?" Stapleton questioned, seeming to be quite interested.

"Pretty much," Amelia nodded.

"He said 'palace'. He said it was a _palace_".

John and Amelia exchanged a look, John throwing his flatmate a quick look, "Yeah, well, he would, wouldn't he?" he commented, shaking his head as he turned and headed out of the room with Amelia and Stapleton behind him, leaving Sherlock to his thinking.

_**Yay, finally a chapter that you didn't have to wait three months for me to write, and I have even finished writing the next and last chapter for the Baskerville episode, so you won't have to wait long for that, either. I really am hoping that I can finish this story up before we get season four, that way we'll at least be on to season three by then, but that might just be wishful thinking on my part. As always, Amelia's outfit will be on my profile and Tumblr. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	10. Chapter 10The Hound of Baskerville,Part5

_**The Hound of Baskerville, Part 5**_

Sadly, Amelia didn't get her cup of tea, since Sherlock soon tracked them down before they had even got on the lift, telling them that he needed to get onto one of the computers and search something called 'Project Hound'. Stapleton agreed to help them gain access to the records and began to lead them back through the base, making their way down several corridors before coming to a stop at a door that took them back into the laboratory outside Major Barrymore's office. She grabbed her access pass and swiped it across the machine beside the door, carefully pulling the door open, warily looking around as they moved into the room for any sign of security.

"John," Sherlock pointed back to the door, moving further into the room.

"Yeah, I'm on it," John said, remaining behind at the door, looking out through the small window to keep watch, while Stapleton moved across the room to take a seat behind a computer.

"Project H.O.U.N.D," Sherlock muttered as Amelia looked at him curiously, "Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana".

"So I was quite close, then," Amelia remarked, mildly surprised, recalling how she had mentioned that very same town in America the day before at Henry's house.

He nodded to her, and walked over to stand behind Stapleton as she finished putting her User ID into the computer and putting in her password. A request to 'enter search string' flashed across the screen and she paused, looking back up to Sherlock, "H, O, U, N, D," he spelled out for her.

Stapleton quickly typed it in and clicked 'enter'. A moment passed as they waited, when the computer beeped and the words 'no access. CIA classified' popped up on the screen with a request for an authorisation code. She sighed, glancing at Sherlock, "That's as far as my access goes, I'm afraid," she told them.

"Well, there must be an override and password," John suggested, shrugging as he looked back over to them from the door.

"I imagine so," she agreed, "But that'd be Major Barrymore's".

Sherlock instantly strolled back across the room and into Barrymore's darkened office, Amelia and Stapleton following behind him, "Password," he murmured to himself as he walked, "Password, password," he switched the lights on and took a seat at the desk, "He sat here when he thought it up," he spun the chair around slowly, looking thoughtful for a long moment as his eyes flickered around the office, taking everything in, "Describe him to me," he practically ordered Stapleton.

"You've seen him".

"But _describe _him".

"Er, he's a bloody martinet, a throw-back," Stapleton replied, not seeming to be a very big fan as Sherlock closed his eyes, visualising the man in his head, "The sort of man they'd have sent into Suez".

"Good, excellent," Sherlock nodded, his eyes snapping open, "Old-fashioned, traditionalist, not the sort of man that would use his children's names as a password," he gestured back behind him to where a couple of kid's drawings in crayon had been pinned to the board above the desk.

"Well, he's obviously very proud of his job," Amelia remarked, trying to help as she leaned through the open doorway of the office, casting her eyes around the rather small space. There really wasn't that much to look at, mostly just paperwork, but she did take note of the number of books on the shelves, "His job is something that he values hugely, and this is to do with work. He wouldn't just pick something out of the blue, he would pick something in here that pertains to his work, but something that is still_ personal_ to him".

Sherlock hummed in agreement, nodding slowly as his eyes roamed around the space, "So what's at eye level?" he muttered, "Books," he pointed across to the bookshelves and over to a book sitting on the desk, "Jane's Defence Weekly, bound copies," he turned to properly look at the shelves, running his eyes down each book sitting neatly on the shelves, "Hannibal, Wellington, Rommel, Churchill's 'History of the English-Speaking Peoples,' all four volumes".

"He's a fan of Churchill," Amelia said, pointing across to where there was, in fact, a bronze bust sitting high on a shelf, looking down over the desk.

Sherlock stood and moved closer to the bookcase, scanning it swiftly as John moved to stand behind Amelia and Stapleton in the doorway, "Copy of 'The Downing Street Years,' one, two, three, four, five separate biographies of Thatcher," he said, quickly pointing each rather well-read looking books out, before noticing a picture frame sitting on the desk. He leaned closer to it to see an older man in a military uniform standing beside his teenage son, the photograph looking slightly yellowed with the old film, "Mid 1980's, at a guess," he determined, eyeing the picture, "Father and son, Barrymore senior. Medals: Distinguished Service Order…" he glanced back behind him to John, knowing that he would know for certain.

"That date?" John began, considering it quickly, "I'd say Falklands veteran".

"Right," he nodded, "So Thatcher's looking a more likely bet than Churchill," he turned and began to head out of the office.

"So that's the password?" Stapleton asked, following after him.

"No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name teams would do," he made his way back over to the computer, not bothering to take a seat as he leaned over the keyboard and began typing 'Margaret' into the authority code box.

"Hang on," Amelia put a hand on his hand, just as he was about to type the last letter, frowning slightly thoughtfully at the screen. Sherlock paused and look at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly, surprisingly seeming interested in what she had to say, "We are talking about a rather arrogant man," she pointed out, remembering the way that the Major had spoken to them earlier as she dropped her hand from his, "'Margaret' isn't personal enough, not for someone like him. 'Maggie,' on the other hand, that's the sort of thing her friends would call her".

Sherlock turned back to the computer, deleting what he had written and typing in 'Maggie' instead, hitting the enter button. There was a tense moment before the computer beeped happily and a message flashed across the screen, reading, 'Override 300/421 Accepted' and a small loading sign.

"Well done, Amelia," he said, glancing across to her as they waited. Amelia sighed in relief, unable to help the smile from crossing her face, "Apparently, that degree in psychology wasn't a complete waste".

She rolled her eyes, her smile not dimming in the slightest, "You know, it is okay for you to say something nice without adding a back handed insult".

"You enjoy it," he smirked faintly as John came to peer over his shoulder to see the screen, "You find it entertaining".

"Shut up, Holmes," she muttered, blushing very slightly, knowing perfectly well that she did enjoy their banter, even if to most people it might seem hurtful or even a little mean at times. She never took anything that he said about her very seriously, just as she knew that he never took anything that she might say to heart, either. There was an invisible line between them that they both seemed to have come to some sort of unspoken agreement to never cross, leaving them free to make snarky and sarcastic comments back and forth, both well aware that it was all out of friendly banter. Even her habit of calling Sherlock by his last name as grown into something she did out of fondness, more than annoyance, as it had originally been.

The light mood was short lived, though as the computer finished loading the files and suddenly, an onslaught of information began streaming across the screen, including brain scans and lists of chemicals, so fast that it was almost hard to concentrate on it with certain phrases jumping out, such as 'extreme suggestibility,' 'fear and stimulus,' 'conditioned terror,' and 'aerosol dispersal'. Sherlock clicked on a picture and brought it up to get a closer look at a group of men and women gathered together, most smiling at the camera, each person wearing a jumper with a savage, growling dog splashed across it with 'H.O.U.N.D' written below the dog. Amelia's eyes widened as she looked at the last names of the five main scientist in the photo, realising that if your lined them up, they spelt out 'Hound'.

"Hound," Stapleton said softly, staring in horror as more information came up.

"Bloody hell…" Amelia breathed, her eyes widening in shock and horror as more words began to leap out at her, such as 'Paranoia,' 'Severe frontal lobe damage,' 'Blood-brain,' and it just seemed to grow worse and worse, even including several murders that had been traced back to those subjects that they had first experimented on. She took a deep breathe and closed her eyes as old, black and white photographs of subjects screaming, their faces twisted in complete fury appeared on the screen.

John's eyes were fixed on the screen, unable to look away, "Jesus," he murmured.

"Project HOUND," Sherlock began, still scanning the information, "A new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus, but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986".

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on," Stapleton nodded, reading over his shoulder.

"And the terrible things that they did to other people," Amelia agreed, her voice sounding softer than normal, her face pale as she leaned closer to try reading the information, "It seems that prologued expose ended up driving the subjects insane, along with uncontrollably aggressive".

John frowned deeply, glancing over to Sherlock and Amelia, "So someone's been doing it again, carrying on the experiment?" he said, looking alarmed at the idea.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps," Sherlock commented, still running his eyes down the information, "For the last twenty years".

"Who?" Stapleton asked, shaking her head.

John nodded at the screen to the list of the scientist names, "Those names mean anything to you?" he looked back over to Stapleton.

"No," she shook her head again, "Not a thing".

Sherlock sighed, his eyes still on the screen, "Five principal scientists, twenty years ago…" he brought the picture back up, zooming in on each scientists face, "Maybe a friend's somewhere in the back of the picture, someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986…" he stopped, catching sight of a familiar face hidden in the back of the picture, and rolled his eyes at himself for not having realised sooner.

"Oh!" Amelia gasped, catching sight of a shaggy haired, youthful face that, while much older after twenty years, still was recognisable enough to leave her with no doubt of just who he was, "Of course".

"Maybe somebody who says 'cell phone' because of time spent in America," Sherlock nodded, turning towards John, "You remember, John?"

"Mmm," John hummed, recalling Doctor Frankland, who had been so helpful when they had first meet. Perhaps even a little_ too_ helpful.

"And he was so helpful in giving us his number, just in case we needed him," Amelia remarked, shaking her head.

"Oh my God," Stapleton breathed, her eyes widening as she looked back to the picture on the screen, "Bob Frankland…" she frowned at the screen, glancing at Sherlock beside her, "But Bob doesn't even work on…I mean, he's a virologist. This was _chemical_ warfare".

"It's where he started, though…" Sherlock told her, turning back to the screen, "And he's never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work," his voice grew lighter as he shrugged, "Nice of him to give us his number," he began rummaging around in his coat pockets, searching for the card, before locating it and pulling it out, along with his phone, "Let's arrange a little meeting".

As he moved away to call Frankland, John's phone began ringing, and he quickly grabbed it out of his pocket, pausing as he frowned at the caller ID, before lifting it up to his ear, "Hello?" he answered. Sherlock paused, exchanging a quick look with Amelia as they both, very faintly, heard the sound of a women sobbing on the other end of the call, "Who's this?" he asked, pausing as he listened for a moment, before turning to face Sherlock and Amelia, "It's Louise Mortimer," he told them, "Louise, what's wrong?" he said over the phone, pausing for a moment, looking very alarmed now, "What? Where…where are you?" he nodded, "Right, stay there. We'll get someone to you, okay?"

John lowered the phone and began typing something in to it, Amelia eyed him worriedly, "Let me guess, Henry?" she said.

"He's attacked her".

"Gone?" Sherlock asked.

"Hmm".

Sherlock nodded and hit speed dial on his own phone, "There's only one place he'll go to: back to where it all started," he raised his phone up to his ear, waiting for a moment, "Lestrade, get to the Hollow…Dewer's Hollow, _now_. And bring a gun".

….

They immediately left Baskerville, breaking the speed limit as Sherlock drove the Land Rover right over the darkened moor, until they were forced to come to a stop at the tree line. The three of them leaped out of the car, their breathe rising into the air as it hit the chilly air, pulling their small torches out of their pockets as they ran into the tree line, desperately hoping that they wouldn't be too late. It only took them a few minutes to reach the Hollow, Amelia being the first to catch sight of Henry already down at the bottom of the Hollow with his gun in his mouth, ready to fire.

"No!" she cried, almost stumbling on the wet, leafy ground in her panic at seeing Henry about to kill himself. She, Sherlock, and John quickly scrambled down the uneven, sloping hill down to the bottom of the Hollow, their torch light aimed at Henry's face, "Henry, don't!" she tried, desperately, "Please!"

Henry stood from where he had been kneeling, pulling the gun from out of his mouth to wave it around in their direction, looking very, very distressed, "Get back!" he demanded, his voice high-pitched and hysterical, backing away from them, "Get…get away from me!"

"Easy, Henry," John said calmly as the three of them came to a stop, putting a soothing hand up, "Easy. Just relax".

"I know what I am. I know what I tried to do!"

Amelia nervously licked her lips, taking a step closer with her gloved hands up, "Please, Henry," she began, her voice gentle as her eyes flickered back and forth between the gun and Henry.

"Amelia…" John hissed, moving to grab her arm.

She easily shook his hand off, keeping her eyes fixed on Henry's, "Just put the gun down, Henry," she continued, pretending as if John hadn't spoken. Her heart was beating so fast that she felt ill and even a little light headed, feeling the adrenalin coursing through her system, but she couldn't just let Henry kill himself when he was a completely innocent victim, "Please," she took another small step forward, "Everything is going to be okay…"

"No!" Henry's voice grew hoarse with anguish as he shouted, not lowering his weapon in the slightest, "No, I know what I am!"

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry," Sherlock nodded, his voice reassuring as he held out a hand towards the man, "It's all been explained to you, hasn't it? Explained _very _carefully".

"What?" he asked, actually seeming to have calmed down slightly.

"Someone needed to keep you quiet," he went on in the same tone of voice, "Needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember," he slowly started to walk closer to Henry, putting himself in front of Amelia, "Remember now, Henry," he tried to encourage him, "You've _got_ to remember what happened here when you were a little boy".

Henry began to lower the gun, struggling to understand, before he raised the weapon back up once more, "I thought it had got my Dad, the hound. I thought…" he frowned, when he lost control again, his voice growing close to screaming, "Oh Je…Oh Jesus, I don't…I don't know any more!" he practically screamed out, sobbing as he bent over and aimed the muzzle of the gun into his mouth again.

"No, Henry!" Amelia cried, almost frantic, jumping forward in front of Sherlock, trying to get his attention back to them again as she swallowed thickly, "Please, just…" her mind raced, desperately trying to think, "Remember 'Liberty In?'" she said hurriedly, "Those two words, those two words that a frightened little boy remembered seeing twenty years ago during the worst moment of his life. _Remember_?"

Henry hesitated, still hunched over with the gun pressed against his lips, but at least he seemed to be listening again.

"You started to piece things together," Sherlock added, talking fast, "Remember what really happened here that night. It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry?" he shook his head as Henry slowly began to straighten, blinking, "Not a monster," Henry finally looked back over to them, "A man."

Henry stared at them, gasping in realisation at the truth. After twenty years of searching, he finally knew what had really happened to his Dad.

"You couldn't cope," he continued, his voice growing softer as he watched Henry as the truth finally dawned on him, "You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped, driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said".

Amelia moved forward, holding out as hand towards Henry as she tried to give him a gentle smile, "It's alright," she told him, slowly taking the gun out of his now limp hands, and automatically flipping the safety on it. She put a hand on his shoulder, meeting his eyes, "You are going to be okay, Henry".

Sherlock!" Lestrade's voice rang out from behind them as he walked down the slope towards them, "Amelia!"

John came to stand beside Amelia, who carefully handed him the gun, grateful when the heavy weight was no longer in her hands. She had used guns before, her Dad had even taught her how to use a rifle and taken her clay pigeon shooting several times. She had actually become quite a good shot, but she really wasn't much of a gun fan in general, she supposed that she had just seen to many people murdered by them to even like them for sport now days.

"Okay, it's okay, mate," John said gently to Henry, giving him a soothing look as he quickly checked the gun to make sure that the safety was on, lowering it to his side.

Henry looked tearfully back across to Sherlock, "But we saw it, the hound, last night," he reminded him, confused, "We s…we, we, we _did_, we saw…" he stuttered out, still seeming to be trying to make sense of everything.

"Yeah, but there _was_ a dog, Henry," Sherlock nodded, his voice growing gentler again. In fact, it was starting to scare Amelia just how unlike himself he was sounding, not that he didn't have a softer side to him, just that it so rarely ever came out. It was nice, "Leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog," he explained to him as Henry shook his head, not seeming to be convinced, "We both saw it, saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus, that's how it works," Henry stared at him, still very confused as he nodded again, his expression sympathetic, "But there never was any monster".

A loud growl rang out in the woods surrounding them, making every one's head snap up. Amelia took a big step back in shock, almost hitting Sherlock's chest before he automatically reached out to put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, while John and Lestrade shone their torches up to the top of the Hollow where a dark shape was moving, just out of the light, almost as if it was stalking the rim as it growled again.

"Sherlock…" John called as they all stared up at the shape, Sherlock's eyes wide in disbelief, not having let go of Amelia's shoulder, for which she was quite grateful.

"No!" Henry began to wail, panicked stricken as he looked quickly back to Sherlock, starting to back away from them, "No, no, no, no!"

Amelia struggled to keep her own fear at bay, her mind desperately trying to grasp as straws to explain what it was seeing as she turned back to Henry, holding out a hand towards him, "It's okay, Henry," she tried, her voice shaking slightly against her will. Henry continued to back away, his eyes wide with terror, "It's going to be fine…"

"Sherlock!" John called again, his voice growing sharper as he kept his torch light aimed on the shape still moving around the top of the Hollow.

"No!" Henry screamed, completely hysterical as he collapsed, clutching at his head as he continued to scream, "No, no, no, no…!"

"Henry!" Amelia tried again, raising her voice as she moved closer to him, but she didn't dare try and touch him when he was so likely to lash out, even accidently, and possibly try and attack her.

The hound snarled again and suddenly lunged towards the edge of the Hollow, its eyes shining from the torchlight, like a cat's.

"Shit!" Lestrade breathed, staring up at the creature.

John looked back to Lestrade, shining his torch onto his pale, shocked face, "Greg, are you seeing this?" he asked him, and Lestrade simply looked back to him, his expression saying all that it needed to. John looked back over to Sherlock, who was staring up at the creature, "Right, he is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that?" he demanded, turning back to shin his torch back up at the creature, his voice growing louder when Sherlock didn't answer, "_What is it_?"

"It's not possible," Amelia gasped, shaking her head, still trying to understand what was going on as she looked up at the growling, snarling creature above them. The logical side of her knew it couldn't be true, that there couldn't be a real monster dog, and yet it was right there in front of her. How can you possibly argue with that?

"Alright!" Sherlock finally managed to pull himself together, still staring up at the creature, Henry's wailing ringing in their ears, along with the growling, "It's still here…" he paused, seeming to be panting slightly, trying to compose himself, "But it's just a dog, Henry!" he said firmly, looking back over to Henry, who stopped crying, "It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!"

The hound let out a loud howl, raising its head into the air.

Lestrade stumbled back, "Oh my God!" he exclaimed, just as the creature leaped a short way down the slope, its eyes flashing red in the torchlight, "Oh, Christ!"

Amelia closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head, trying to force her brain to corporate with what she knew to be logical, but when she opened her eyes again, the hound was still there, growling with its red eyes, opening its jaw to reveal long, very sharp teeth that certainly didn't belong to any dog she knew of. She gasped in terror, almost being able to picture how it would kill them all within seconds before they could even defend themselves. She stumbled backwards, only for her foot to snag on a rock and send her falling onto her back, leafs and twigs snagging in her hair and on the back of her coat, but right now appearances meant nothing to her, only that they were about to be killed by an impossible hound.

She winced, knowing that she was going to be bruised later, not that she supposed that would matter much if they ended up dying, and struggled to pull herself back onto her feet, only to stop. In the thick mist at the other end of the Hollow, a figure was moving towards them, seeming to be wearing an old fashioned breathing mask.

"Sherlock!" Amelia called, snapping his attention away from the creature. She got back onto her feet and pointed at the figure, not quite trusting her own brain to tell her if she was really seeing someone, or if it was something else entirely.

Sherlock didn't hesitate, rushing towards the figure and grabbing the breathing mask, pulling it up. He stopped suddenly, staring at whoever was behind the mask, "No!" he shouted, sounding horrified, grunting slightly, "It's not you! _You're not here_!"

Amelia could only watch in confusion, unable to see just who it was, but she could tell that Sherlock seemed to be hallucinating. Why? What could possibly be…she gasped, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the thick fog surrounding the two men, drifting in the air around the entire Hollow. That it had to be it, Project Hound was a chemical that was released into the air and was used to induce fear, and if someone was still running the experiment, it wasn't so hard to imagine that it could be in the fog surrounding them right now.

"The fog!" she said loudly, trying to cover her mouth and nose with her scarf, hoping that that might offer at least a little bit of protection.

Sherlock didn't seem to hear her as he grabbed the figure, spinning him around, before head-butting him. Doctor Frankland crumpled slightly at the blow, trying to cover his mouth and nose as he straightened once more. Sherlock stopped, staring at the man as he seemed to realise who he really was, his breathing still quite panicked.

Amelia hurried over to them, grabbing Sherlock's arm, hardly giving Frankland a second glance, "Sherlock, the fog!" she told him urgently, giving his arm a little shake as his wide eyes darted across to meet hers, finally seeming to be listening to her, "The drug, it's in the fog!"

"The fog…" he said slowly, comprehension dawning on his face, his head snapping back around to look at the fog behind them.

"What?" John asked, still keeping his torch fixed on the hound.

"Amelia's right, it's the fog! The drug, it's in the fog!" he looked back to Frankland, talking fast, "Aerosol dispersal, that's what it said in those records. Project H.O.U.N.D, it's the fog!" he released Frankland and spun around, "A chemical minefield!"

John and Lestrade tried covering their noses and mouths, Amelia using her scarf again, all of them trying not to breathe as much or deeply. The hound stalked closer, moving down the slope towards them as it grunted aggressively at them all, snarling.

"For God's sake, kill it!" Frankland began shouting, staring fearfully at the creature, just as helpless to his own weapon without his breathing mask to protect him as everyone else, "Kill it!"

The creature looked ready to pounce at them as Lestrade aimed his gun at it and fired three times, only to miss. It snarled and ran forward, leaping at them as he fired a second round, this time managing to hit it, sending the creature flying in the air to land in a heap on the ground, lying motionless. They all stared at it tensely for any signs of movement, Amelia's heart racing madly in her chest.

Sherlock, after a moment, hurried over to Henry, "Look at it, Henry," he urged him, grabbing his shoulder, pulling him over towards the hound.

"No!" Henry shook his head, trying to resist being pushed, "No, no!"

"Come on!" he insisted, not giving in as he continued to push him forward, "Look at it!" he forced Henry over to the hound's body, shining his torch on it to show that it was just a dog, a rather large one, but still just a domestic dog.

Henry stood there, staring down at the dog's body for a long moment, before slowly turning back around to look over to where Frankland was standing, holding his injured nose after Sherlock head buttered him, "It's just…" he began, he shook his head, drawing a deep breath, "You bastard!" he suddenly screamed in rage, hurling himself at the older man, "You bastard!" he slammed Frankland onto the ground, still screaming in his face as John and Lestrade ran over to them, trying to pull Henry off him, "Twenty years!" he shouted in the man's face, "Twenty years of my life making no sense! Why didn't you just kill me?"

They finally managed to pull Henry off him, Amelia moving to try and help as she grabbed Henry's arm, "Because dead men get listened to," Sherlock explained to him, holding out a hand towards him, trying to calm him, "He needed to do more than kill you. He had to discredit every word you ever said about your Father, and he had the means right at his feet, a chemical minefield," he shone his torch around the Hollow as he spoke, "Pressure pads in the ground dosing you up every time that you came back here," he held his arms out as he slowly turned in a circle on the spot, gesturing around at the Hollow, "Murder weapon and scene of the crime all at once. Oh, this case, Henry!" he began laughing in delight, smiling broadly as he lowered his arms, "Thank you. It's been brilliant".

"Sherlock…" John sighed as Amelia shook her head at him.

"What?" he turned around to face them.

"Timing," he clarified, giving him a pointed look.

Sherlock looked honestly unsure, "Not good?"

"_Very_ not good," Amelia nodded.

"No," Henry spoke up, still looking quite dazed, but not nearly as homicidal as before. Lestrade and John had even let him go, "No, it's…it's okay. It's fine, because this means…" he took a step towards Frankland, who slowly climbed back on to his feet, eyeing him warily. Henry pointed at his chest, "…this means that my Dad was _right_," he took another step towards him, but Lestrade and John quickly stopped him from moving any closer, "He found something out, didn't he?" his voice grew tearful, glaring down at the man, "And _that's _why you'd killed him, because he was_ right_, and he'd found you right in the middle of an _experiment_".

Suddenly, a savage growl sounded from behind them and they turned back to look at the dog, which was whining in pain as, by some miracle, it was getting back on to its feet, somehow still alive. John immediately began shooting at it twice, and once again the dog collapsed on the ground, but while everyone was distracted, Frankland took the chance to take off running in the opposite direction. Sherlock took off after him, Amelia right behind him with John, Lestrade, and Henry, running up the rather steep slope.

"Frankland!" Sherlock shouted after him as they made it up the slope, chasing him through the woods, "Frankland!"

"Come on!" Lestrade encouraged Henry from behind them, lagging behind slightly from Sherlock, Amelia, and John, "Keep up!"

Amelia swore as she stumbled over a root, managing to catch herself on a tree, scrapping her nails on the rough surface. And there went half of her nail polish, she couldn't stand having chipped nail polish, it was going to drive her insane, but she pushed herself on after the others, jumping over a fallen tree branch as they continued their pursuit.

"It's no use, Frankland!" Sherlock called after the man.

They ran until they reached a barbed wire fence on the edge of the Baskerville minefield, forcing them to come to a skidding halt as they caught sight of Frankland standing on the other side of the fence, standing frozen. He raised his head and lifted his foot, and a large explosion went off, forcing them all to duck as dirt and fire went flying into the air, the ground beneath them vibrating from the force of the explosion.

After a moment, the blast died down as Henry stared at the place that Frankland had been standing, falling back against a nearby tree, while the others simply stood back, panting for breathe, gazing out over the minefield. It should have felt like a victory, but it was still too much of a shock to feel anything else.

"It's over, Henry," Amelia breathed, slightly breathless after the running, closing her eyes tightly, "It's all over".

….

The next morning found Amelia and John sitting on a table across the road from the pub, enjoying the morning sunshine as Amelia tried very hard not to look at her right hand with the chipped nail polish on three of her fingers, already feeling annoyed just knowing that it was there. She should have packed some remover, at least then she could have taken it all off and be done with it, but she thought that was being a little too vain, even for her. Billy walked out of the pub with two plates of the vegetarian equivalent of an English breakfast and made his way over to their table, putting the plates on the table before them.

"Mmm," John hummed, running his eyes over the meal, before glancing up at the man, "Thanks, Billy".

"Yes, thank you," Amelia nodded, giving the man a smile as she reached for her knife and fork.

Billy gave them a smile, walking back towards the pub as Sherlock joined them, managing to hold three white mugs in his hands, sitting two of them down in front of John and Amelia, while keeping his own cup, "So they didn't have it put down, then, the dog," he remarked, taking a sip of his drink.

"Apparently," Amelia agreed, reaching for her cup of tea, taking a sip.

"Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it," John commented, happily tucking in to his breakfast.

Sherlock nodded, swallowing his sip of coffee, "I see".

He smiled slightly, exchanging a quick look with the brunet beside him, "No you don't," he shook his head.

"No, I don't," he replied, taking another sip, frowning slightly as he lowered his cup, "Sentiment?"

"Correct," Amelia pointed at him, smiling brightly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Oh," he muttered, moving around to seat on the bench across the table from them.

"Listen, what happened to me in the lab?" John asked after a moment of chewing his food, glancing over to Sherlock.

Amelia quickly avoided his eyes, putting a mouthful of tomato in her mouth to try and avoid having to talk about it herself. It was Sherlock's experiment, he could be the one to tell him.

Sherlock eyed John for a moment before looking away, grabbing a small basket of sauce packets sitting on the middle of the table, fiddling with the packets, "D'you want some sauce with that?" he offered, looking down at the packets, "Amelia?"

"I mean, I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there?" John continued, frowning as he considered it, "Fear and stimulus, you said".

Amelia's eyes flickered between the two as she took a sip of her tea, watching as Sherlock rummaged around in the packets of sauce, clearly trying to avoid answering, "You must have been dosed with it elsewhere," he shrugged, pretending to be very interested in the sauce, not meeting John's eyes, "When you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes…" he finally looked up at him, "Pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve, and they were carrying the gas, so…um, ketchup, was it? Or brown…?" he questioned, picking up two of the packets.

"Smooth," Amelia murmured to herself, hiding her mouth behind her half empty cup. It would have been amusing seeing Sherlock trying so hard to avoid actually answering honestly, had she not been feeling so guilty for her own part.

John nodded, before pausing, "Hang on…" he frowned deeply, glancing at Sherlock, "You thought it was in the sugar," Sherlock looked back to him, trying hard to keep his expression casual as he went on, "You were _convinced_ it was in the sugar".

Sherlock looked away again, "Better get going, actually," he remarked, pulling his sleeve back and checking his watch, "There's a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want…"

John noticed Amelia's slightly guilty expression that she was trying hard to hide, and sighed as the truth hit him, "Oh God," he shook his head, looking away from them, "It was you, both of you," Amelia shifted uncomfortably, "You locked me in that bloody lab".

"I had to," Sherlock told him.

He turned on Amelia, "And you let him?" he demanded.

"I'm so sorry, John," Amelia said hurriedly, throwing Sherlock a dark look, "I didn't know until it was too late, otherwise I would have stopped it, I promise. I really am sorry".

"It was an experiment," Sherlock defended himself as John turned to him.

"An _experiment_?" John exclaimed loudly, growing slightly angry.

"Shh," he quickly tried to shush him, glancing around at the people seating at tables around them, enjoying their own breakfasts.

He glared at both of them, "I was _terrified_, Sherlock," he hissed pointedly, lowering his voice, "I was scared to death".

"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything with Major Barrymore," he informed him as John sighed heavily, looking away in exasperation, "It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions, well, _literally_. Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one," John stopped, his fork half risen to his mouth, and glared at him. He rolled his eyes, adding, "You know what I mean".

"Might try that without the eye roll next time, Holmes," Amelia advised him, sitting her empty cup on the table as she picked up her knife and fork, tucking into her food.

John took another mouthful of his food, chewing it quickly, and swallowed it, "But is wasn't in the sugar," he remarked pointedly.

"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas," Sherlock shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So you got it wrong".

"No…"

"Mmm. You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got it _wrong_".

"I admit that I was wrong," Amelia nodded, trying hard to eat her egg without getting the runny yoke down her front.

"A bit," Sherlock admitted after a moment, not looking pleased to have to say it. He glanced between Amelia and John, "It won't happen again".

John began cutting up his egg when he paused, something occurring to him, "Any long-term effects?" he asked, concerned.

"None at all," he assured him, shaking his head, "You'll be fine once you're excreted it. We all will".

John returned to his meal, "I think I might have taken care of that already," he commented slyly.

Amelia coughed, almost chocking on her mouthful as Sherlock snorted slightly with laughter. She sighed, shaking her head as she managed to swallow her mouthful, grabbing her napkin to dab at the corner of her mouth, "Oh, I so have to get more girl friends," she sighed, suddenly feeling not very hungry anymore.

Sherlock's eyes drifted over to where Gary was pouring coffee for two costumers across the road, giving Sherlock an apologetic smile. Sherlock sat his cup down on the table and began to stand.

"Where're you going?" John asked, glancing at him.

"Won't be a minute," he said, looking back to them, "Gotta see a man about a dog".

And with that, he gave them a smile as Amelia sighed again, and headed back across the road to Gary.

_**And we're are finally up to the Fall, I can't wait! I've already started writing the next chapter, so once again you, hopefully, won't have to wait very long for that either. The bad news is that my school holidays are about to end, so it's unlikely I'll be able to update as frequently as I would like in the coming weeks. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

_**Guest reviews:**_

_**LadyRedStar: **__**Yes, and that's one of the big differences between the two of them. Amelia has an ethical outlook on how things should be done. For instance, not conducting psychological tests on people without their consent is something she would never do herself. And as for telling John, I think she just came to the mindset that it was Sherlock's experiment, he should be the one to tell John, and just hope that she would be there to see Sherlock get punched. Plus, by that point she was feeling too guilty to really get any enjoyment out of it. Thanks for the review :)**_


	11. Chapter 11 The Reichenbach Fall, Part 1

_**The Reichenbach Fall, Part 1**_

Thunder rumbled over head as the rain poured thick and fast, completely drenching the streets and parked cars. The ordinary residential London street was empty, most people choosing to stay indoors over braving the awful weather outside, except for one person. A tall figure walked down the footpath, passing the nearly identical brick attached houses as he went, his hands buried inside an old pair of jeans and with a black hooded jacket pulled up over his head, concealing his face from view.

He paused on the side of the road, waiting for a delivery van to pass him before stepping down onto the wet road surface, his trainers splashing in a puddle as he crossed the road and brushed past two parked cars as he stepped back up onto the opposite footpath before the large red door of one of the houses. The paint was badly chipped and the white window frames were almost just as bad with one of them even starting to show signs of rot in one of the corners, but the man didn't hesitate as he pushed open the small rusted gate of the tiny paved front gardened, and headed up to the door…

…..…..…_**Three Months Earlier**_…..….

Amelia smiled politely as she stood beside Sherlock and John in an art gallery, just off to the side, listening to the Director, who finally seemed to be reaching the end of his speech as he spoke to a crowd of patrons and press gathered before him, some sipping champagne that was being severed around the room by waiters on silver trays.

"'Falls of the Reichenbach,'" the Director was saying as he gestured back behind him to where a large painting of a waterfall was sitting on an easel stand, proudly on display for all to see, "Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talents of Mr Sherlock Holmes and Miss Amelia Wilson," the crowd began to applaud as Amelia felt her the back of her neck warming at the attention. The man walked over towards the three of them with two small wrapped gifts in his hands, both tied with a black bow, "Small tokens of our gratitude," he smiled at the two detectives, holding the two gifts out towards them.

"Thank you," Amelia said with the same polite smile, taking the small gift held out to her. It was easy to deduce that it was jewellery, owing to the lightness and small size, no doubt a diamond bracelet. She didn't often wear bracelets, but it was still very kind of them to even bother giving her something at all. She glanced at Sherlock and sighed under her breathe, lightly nudging his side with a pointed look when he made no move to take his.

Sherlock sighed loudly and took his gift, eyeing it for a moment, "Diamond cufflinks," he deduced at once, lowering the gift, "All my cuffs have buttons".

John looked over to the Director, who seemed a little offended by Sherlock's lack of acknowledgement, "He means 'thank you,'" he told the man.

"Do I?" he asked quietly, glancing at John.

"Just say it".

He let out another sigh and turned back to the Director, "Thank you," he said insincerely, slipping his gift inside his coat pocket as he moved to walk away.

Amelia grabbed his arm, pulling him back slightly with a quick look, "Not yet, Holmes," she whispered, keeping her arm on his arm to prevent him from trying to run off again.

Sherlock grumbled something under his breathe, but made no attempt to move as the press gathered before them, snapping pictures as the three of them reluctantly stood for the photos, practically counting the seconds until they could escape and get back to Baker Street.

Of course, the story had spread like wild fire through the papers with headlines hailing Amelia and Sherlock 'Heroes of the Reichenback,' some making it seem as if they were complete amateurs who just got lucky, while Scotland Yard were left looking red faced that they had been outmatched. There had even been a piece written in one of the gossip columns speculating at Amelia and Sherlock relationship after someone had blown one of the pictures up and drawn a big red circle around Amelia's hand on Sherlock's arm, prompting a sudden onslaught of stories that there were secretly dating.

And that was only the very start of it all.

….

A week later, Amelia and Sherlock found themselves solving the case of a kidnapped banker, managing to track down the man and his kidnappers within twelve hours of taking the case on, bringing him back to his family, completely unharmed. The press had pounced on the case, making the two of them out to be heroes again, and with the all press attention surrounding the case, John, Amelia, and Sherlock soon found themselves standing awkwardly outside the banker's town house, reluctantly attending the press conference that the man had insisted that they hold as he stood on his front steps with his arms around his young son and wife.

"Back together with my family after my terrifying ordeal," the man was saying to the press as they gathered in a crowd before the man and his family, taking pictures and even with a news crew there, filming the entire thing, "And we have two people to thank for my deliverance," he continued, smiling as he looked across the Amelia, Sherlock, and John, holding out a hand towards them, "Sherlock Holmes and Amelia Wilson".

The crowd began to applaud as all eyes turned on the three of them. The young boy smiled broadly and held out two neatly wrapped gifts out to Amelia and Sherlock.

Amelia smiled at the boy, taking her own royal blue gift, deducing that it was a pair of small earrings, possibly pearl, "Thank you," she nodded, glancing at the couple, carefully tucking it inside her handbag.

Sherlock took his pale blue gift and rattled it slightly, before glancing at John and Amelia, "Tie pin," he muttered to them, "I don't wear ties".

"Shh," John hushed him quietly as Amelia smiled faintly, noticing Sherlock's exasperated expression.

….

Another week passed and the three of them found themselves standing in yet another press conference after they managed to catch an infamous criminal that had been on the Most Wanted list. This time it was being held at Scotland Yard where Lestrade was addressing the large crowd of press before them, having been completely delighted when he had first informed them that they would be required to attend. Sherlock, John, and Amelia where standing slightly off to the side, listening to Lestrade speak, all the while trying very hard to ignore Donovan and Anderson's amused expressions as they stood at the back of the room, watching the three of them carefully.

They were definitely up to something, Amelia was certain of it, and it was starting to make her nervous. She didn't trust either of them not to do something to humiliate them in front of a room full of press from every newspaper in the country.

"Peter Ricoletti," Lestrade said to the press, sitting at a table before the crowd as flashes of cameras went off, "Number One on Interpol's Most Wanted list since 1982. But we got him, and there's two people we have to thank for giving us the decisive leads…" his mouth twitched slightly, his eyes lingering on Sherlock pointedly, "…with all their customary diplomacy and tact".

Sherlock smiled insincerely over at Lestrade as Amelia gave him a quick, warning look, not quite brave enough to dare touch him after what happened the last time she had done that with a room full of press.

John leaned closer to Sherlock, "Sarcasm," he told him quietly, just in case he didn't catch it.

"Yes," he agreed, keeping his smile in place.

The press applauded as Lestrade stood and walked over to them, handing both Amelia and Sherlock a slightly shabbily wrapped present each. He smiled at them, his eyes twinkling with barely retrained amusement, "We all chipped in," he informed them.

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and carefully began to tear the paper open, Sherlock doing the same beside her with an eye roll, all the while both very aware that Donovan and Anderson where still watching them with expectant grins as cameras all turned in their direction.

"You have got to be kidding…" Amelia breathed, almost groaning aloud as she tore the paper off to find herself holding a blue scarf that looked just like the one that Sherlock always wore, only someone had stuck a pink love heart onto it with her and Sherlock's initials in big bold letters written inside it with an arrow. It looked very nauseatingly like something a school girl might draw on the edge of her diary about her crush. Her head snapped up to glare across at Anderson and Donovan, who were struggling not to burst out laughing, just _knowing_ that they were the masterminds behind it.

Sherlock finished unwrapping his own present and pulled out a deerstalker hat, "Oh!" he exclaimed, trying to smile but it came out as more of a pained grimace.

The press went wild, their cameras going off so fast that it was almost blinding with so many flashes and the room was filled with people shouting, "Put the hat on!" one of the reporters called out.

"Miss Wilson, put the scarf on!" another reported shouted as Amelia and Sherlock both froze, glancing at each other in complete horror at the idea of putting both of their respectful 'gifts' on before a room of cameras, knowing that something like this wouldn't die easily once it hit the web. Oh no, it would only get worse once that happened, someone would probably end up making a Twitter account for Sherlock's damn deerstalker by the end of the week at the rate their fame was spreading.

"Yeah, Sherlock, Amelia," Lestrade grinned at them, clearly enjoying seeing their displeasure, "Put them on!"

Sherlock looked back at the reporters, seeming to be seriously considering every unpleasant way in which he could kill them, while Amelia was debating whether she could pretend to faint to get out of putting the scarf on, knowing that once she had it around her neck, the entire room would be able to see the heart on full display, when John cleared his throat, "Just get it over with," he muttered hastily to them both.

Amelia took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly, before opening them again as she shot Lestrade a look that clearly said that he would live to regret this little prank as she wrapped the scarf around her neck, the heart clearly on display against her black dress, while Sherlock shoved the wrapping paper into John's hands, sending the reporters one last glare, before putting the hat on his head.

The room was filled with even more flashbulbs as the crowd applauded. Sherlock gave them a strained smile as Amelia clenched her fists together, her eyes fixed dangerously across the room on Donovan, who clapped sarcastically in delight with Anderson beside her, grinned smugly at the two.

"I'm going to kill them," Amelia hissed through her teeth, her words luckily covered by the clapping.

"Sounds like you're best idea yet," Sherlock murmured, his strained smile still fixed on place, but the look in his eyes even made her nervous.

"Can we maybe not plot a murder in the middle of a Scotland Yard?" John sighed, glancing at his companions with an exasperated look.

They simply gave him a look as if he was being a complete idiot and went back to glaring down Donovan and Anderson across the room, happily imagining their unpleasant end. Still, the upside was that at the least the press managed to get a decent shot of the two of them looking slightly happier.

….

With their new found fame, it suddenly seemed as if none of them could go anywhere without at least one photographer managing to snap a picture of them. Amelia and Sherlock were still a hot topic in the gossip columns, Amelia had even read one article that claimed that they were secretly married and expecting their first child after a photographer had got a picture of her passing by a high end baby shop on her way home from getting some milk, and that wasn't even the most absurd article that she had seen drifting through the tabloids. Not that she was much of a fan for gossip magazines…well, okay, maybe she did have a slightly guilty pleasure in reading those trashy articles, but that pleasure had very quickly started to fade when she and her friends had become the focus of some of them.

Of course, the sudden fame wasn't just interfering in their daily lives, it had also seeped into their work and now it had started to become harder to distinguish between people with a real case and those who simply came to them because they wanted to meet London's latest 'heroes'. It had even become so bad that they had started to screen people at the front door, usually a duty that fell to Amelia to do, since Sherlock felt that it was below his ability's.

And with the fame, the nicknames in the papers soon followed, as Sherlock very quickly discovered the morning after the press conference at Scotland Yard. He strolled into the living room, his blue dressing gown billowing behind him over his trousers and button up shirt as he grimaced with a disgruntled expression, holding a folded up newspaper in his hands.

"'Boffin," he scoffed, making John look up from his own paper, sitting on the sofa beside Amelia, who was frowning as her eyes ran down yet another article about her, this time about her supposed island that she owned and rented out to A-list celebrities, "'Boffin Sherlock Holmes,'" he huffed indignantly as he threw the paper down on the coffee table.

"Everybody gets _one_," John told him, laying his own open paper down on the coffee table before him.

"One what?" he asked, starting to pace.

"A tabloid nickname," Amelia clarified, closing her magazine with a bit more force then she intended and throwing it on the table. An island? Honestly, it was just getting more and more idiotic. She sighed as she looked back up, "They've already dubbed me, 'Lady-Chic'".

"'Subo,'" John remarked, grabbing another paper from the table and running his eyes down the front page, "'Nasty Nick'. Shouldn't worry, I'll probably get one soon".

"Page five, column six, first sentence," Sherlock informed him at once, walking over to the fireplace. John glanced up at him in surprise before flipping the pages, trying to locate the page. He picked up the deerstalker that he had left sitting on the mantle, glaring at it, "Why is it always the hat photograph?" he complained loudly, punching it angrily.

Amelia lent back into the sofa, crossing her legs. She had already made sure to get rid of the scarf she had been given the night before, "Maybe because it captures people's attention and imagination?" she suggested, shrugging with another sign, really having no idea herself, "Or perhaps it's because it makes you seem more eccentric to the public?"

John finally seem to find the proper page and stared down at the article, grimacing slightly, "'Bachelor John Watson?'" he read aloud.

"What sort of hat is it anyway?" Sherlock wondered, eyeing it carefully.

"'Bachelor?'" he repeated, frowning as he looked back up from the page, "What the hell are they implying?"

Sherlock twisted the hat backwards and forwards rapidly, all the while Amelia looked between both men, amused by their displeasure, "Is it a cap?" he continued, completely ignoring John as he narrowed his eyes at it, "Why has it got two fronts?"

Amelia shook her head at him, "It's called a _deerstalker_, Sherlock," she told him, wondering how it was possibly that he, of all people, didn't know that. He had grown up in the countryside, after all.

"'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson…'" John muttered, running his eyes further down the article.

"You stalk deer with a hat?" he asked, shaking his head, seeming to be completely baffled by the whole idea as he stared down at the hat, "What are you gonna do, throw it?" he mimicked throwing it out the window, holding it like it was a frisbee.

"_No_," Amelia laughed, really starting to wonder if he was being serious, or just asking increasingly silly questions to be funny. She could see a glimmer in his eyes as he spoke, one that almost made her think that he was doing it to amuse her. A few months ago she would have thought that she was just overthinking it, but she couldn't help wondering if that was the case now, "People wear it when they go hunting out on the chilly Scottish moors," she explained to him.

"'…_confirmed _bachelor John Watson!'" John exclaimed, looking at another section of the article, his eyes widening.

"Some sort of death Frisbee?" Sherlock mimed throwing the hat again, his eyes flickering over to Amelia with a hint of teasing, making her smile and shake her head at him, positive he was just doing it because she found it funny.

"Okay, this is too much," John sighed, shaking his head as he looked up from the paper, his expression growing serious, "We need to be more careful".

"It's got flaps…ear flaps," he continued, ignoring John, frowning down at the hat as he looked at the flaps of fabric on the side of the hat, "It's an _ear_ hat," he said, and skimmed it across the room to Amelia, who easily caught it as it practically landed right in her lap. His frown deepened, glancing back over to John, "What do you mean, 'more careful?'" he asked.

"I mean, this isn't a deerstalker now," he began, shaking his head as he pointed over to the hat Amelia was still holding, but his eyes were fixed on Sherlock, "It's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean, that you and Amelia aren't exactly _private_ detectives anymore," he tried to explain, holding up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart for them to see as he went on, "You're both _this_ far from famous".

Amelia nodded in agreement, definitely seeing his point. The media's interest in them was certainly growing by the day and just these little nicknames was proof enough of that. Soon enough people will probably want them to have interviews and start investigating everything about them from their childhoods upwards, if they weren't already.

"Oh, it'll pass," Sherlock waved him off, flopping down into his armchair, pressing his hands together in front of his mouth.

"It _better_ pass," John commented, still looking very serious, "The press _will_ turn. They always turn, and they'll turn on _you_ two," he finished, pointing between Amelia and Sherlock.

Sherlock lowered his hands from his face and brought them down onto the armrests of his chair, looking back across the room to frown at his flatmate, "It really bothers you," he said, surprised and confused.

"What?"

"What people say?"

"Yes".

"About me?" Sherlock questioned, still frowning at him, "About Amelia? I don't understand, why would it upset_ you_?"

"Sherlock…" Amelia sighed.

John held his gaze for a long moment, before looking back down to all the papers spread out over the coffee table before him, shifting slightly in his seat, "Just try to keep a low profile," he told them, looking back up again to Sherlock, "Find yourselves a _little_ case this week. Stay out of the news".

And with that, he picked up his newspaper and disappeared behind it, leaving Amelia and Sherlock to exchange a quick look of agreement. He was right, things were fast getting out of hand and if they wanted to try and regain their previous press free lives, they would need to slow things down a bit, hopefully give the news a chance to focus on someone else for a change and forget about them. The press could be fickle that way, hopefully they could use that fickleness to their advantage.

….

Two days later, Amelia and Sherlock had taken John's advice and taken up a low profile case that was easily solved within a day of taking it on. Sherlock was sitting at his kitchen table, looking through his microscope, while Amelia was standing at the kitchen cabinets, making herself a cup of tea, just pouring boiling water into her tea cup when a phone dinged from somewhere in the living room. She paused and glanced over towards the sound, before shaking her head and going back to making her tea when she realised that it wasn't her phone.

John walked into the room in his bathrobe that was tied around his middle, towelling his wet hair dry, having just finished his shower. He heard the sound and glanced at Sherlock as he walked past his chair, "It's your phone," he said to him, moving around the table.

"Mmm," Sherlock mumbled, not looking up from his microscope, completely disinterested, "Keeps doing that".

John looked at Amelia, his eyebrows raised, "It's not my phone," she shrugged, removing the teabag from her cup, tossing it into the bin, and moving back to the cabinet, pouring a bit of milk into her cup, stirring it with her spoon.

He shook his head and headed into the living room, not even pausing when he caught sight of a male mannequin hanging from a noose around its neck from the ceiling, wearing a black suit. He settled into his armchair, picking up his newspaper that was sitting on a small table beside him, briefly running his eyes down the front page. No sign of any mention of Sherlock or Amelia, thankfully.

"So," he began, the rope around the mannequins neck squeaking slightly on the plastic as it swayed gently in the faint breeze through the room, "Did Sherlock just talk to him for a really long time?" he asked jokingly, opening the first page of the paper.

Amelia moved to stand in the doorway with her tea, glancing at the mannequin, "Not quite," she smiled slightly, seeing Sherlock roll his eyes out of the corner of her eyes, "I'm afraid that Henry Fishgard didn't commit suicide".

Sherlock pulled his eyes off his microscope and picked up an old hardback book that was sitting on the table beside him, "Bow Street Runners…" he remarked, slamming it shut, sending a small cloud of dust into the air, "Missed everything," he slammed it back down onto a pile of other books he had stacked up beside him, returning his attention to his microscope.

"Pressing case, is it?" John said, glancing back over his shoulder to him, before returning to his paper. Amelia moved to sit on the sofa, slipping her heals off and curling her legs beneath her, sipping her tea.

"They're all pressing 'til they're solved".

Amelia soon finished her tea and sat the empty cup down on the coffee table, pulling out her phone. She had just sent off a reply to a message Molly had sent her when Sherlock's phone trilled again, signalling another text alert.

John lowered his paper and glanced over to it, before sighing as he closed it completely, "I'll get it, shall I?" he said sarcastically, knowing that Sherlock wasn't going to be moving any time soon to get it. He tossed his paper onto the table beside him and stood, stepping over to where the phone was sitting on the table beside Sherlock's chair, picking it up, and checking the message.

Amelia watched him, lowering her own phone to see all the colour drain from his face and for a shocked expression to quickly crossed it as he read the message, "John?" she asked, concerned.

His head snapped up to look at her at the sound of her voice, and it was something about the look on his face that made her stomach drop. He hesitated, before holding the slim device out towards her, "I think you had better see this," he told her quietly.

She frowned and stood, not bothering to put her shoes back on as she crossed the room to take the phone. She meet his eyes briefly and he gave her an almost comforting look, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. That couldn't mean anything good, not good at all. Slowly, she looked down at the phone's screen and almost immediately, she felt herself start shaking as she read the message.

"Oh, God, _no_," she gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth, horrified as she felt her knees start to wobble. She knew this was coming, she had been expecting it, but she hadn't anticipated that it would happen_ today_.

"Amelia…" John began, reaching towards her again, very concerned.

She shook her head and forced herself to try and calm down, knowing that she couldn't completely lose control over her emotions until she knew for certain what was going on. She needed to keep a calm, level head for the time being. She turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen, John right behind her as she made her way over to where Sherlock was still focused on his microscope, and held his phone out towards him, "Sherlock," she said to get his attention, her voice sounding softer than normal.

"Not now," Sherlock muttered, adjusting the scope, not looking up, "I'm busy".

She paused, taking a deep breathe, her hand still outstretched towards him, "It's important…" she tried again, her voice growing sharper.

"Not _now_".

"Oh, for God's sake!" she exclaimed, only just resisting the urge to grab him by his lapels and start shaking him, but somehow she managed to hold herself back…or perhaps that was just because John was hovering behind her. So, instead, she settled for grabbing his shoulder firmly, "James is back, Sherlock!"

That finally got his attention as he lifted his head slowly and looked back to her, meeting her eyes briefly before taking his phone from her offered hand, looking down at the message on the screen:

_Come and Play_

_Tower Hill._

_Jim Moriarty x._

Sherlock's eyes widened as he fell back against his chair, looking off into space.

…

It was later on in the afternoon when they arrived at the Tower of London to find several police cars parked outside with police wondering around, some trying to hold back members of the press who had caught word that something had happened. Lestrade meet them at the entrance and lead them through the building to the security room to show them the footage of Moriarty breaking into the glass display that contained the Crown Jewels, having also somehow managed to break into the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison at the same time.

Amelia watched intently as James stuck something onto the glass display case, having already completely cleared the room of tourists by somehow setting off the security shut down and then knocking out one of the security guards with some sort of spray. She leaned closer to the screen, narrowing her eyes to try and workout exactly what it was that he was sticking on to the case, when she realised that it was a piece of chewing gum, but as he proceeded to press something else into the gum, it was impossible to make out from the distance the camera was on exactly what it was.

"That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade remarked, watching the footage playing over Amelia and Sherlock's shoulders.

"Not tougher than crystallised carbon," Sherlock said simply.

"Oh, of course," Amelia nodded slowly, realisation hitting her just what it was he had stuck into the gum, "A diamond".

Lestrade leaned forward and pressed a button on the keyboard, switching to the camera on the other side of the room, closer to the case to show James holding a fire extinguisher up, having just smashed the glass casing. He hit reverse on the footage and they watched as the glass flew back into place to show a message that he had scrawled across the glass with a big smiley face in the 'O,' the message reading:

_Get Sherlock_

Amelia swallowed thickly and reached out to steady herself on the edge of the desk, feeling ill just watching the footage as Sherlock stared at the screen, his eyes fixed on it. John glanced quickly between the two, concern wash over him for his two friends. It was going to be worse this time, he just knew it.

….

All the papers were calling it the crime of the century with people everywhere coming up with different theories of how Moriarty could have possibly broken into three different places at once. And, of course, somehow it had gotten out into the press that Sherlock had been requested personally by a message left at the crime scene. The photo of Sherlock's name written across the display case had even been leaked out into the paper within hours of the news being broken, Lestrade had been furious when it had first been printed on the front page, but he still hadn't been able to find out just who had been responsible.

Amelia was standing before the mirror hanging over the mantle at Baker Street, her fingers trembling very faintly with nerves as she adjusted her hanging diamond and pearl huggie earrings, her face very pale, making her red lipstick seem even brighter than it really was and her smoky eyeshadow contrast against it. She was wearing black heeled Louboutin's with a T-strap, back-seam tights, a red pencil skirt with a black belt around her waist, and a short sleeved jumper with an embroidered collar that she had tucked into her skirt, over which she had a red blazer. She had also styled her hair up in a classic French bun and red nail polish.

"You don't have to do this," John's voice drifted over her, making her blink and look up to see him standing behind her in the mirror. He was adjusting his collar and tie as he spoke, his eyes flickering over to meet hers.

She sighed heavily, dropping her hand from her earring, but she still felt like she needed to be fiddling with something, "Yes, of course I do," she told him, determined, regardless of how terrified it made her feel, "If speaking today in court means that James might_ finally_ go to prison, then I want to do everything I possibly can to insure that happens".

He turned to face her properly, eyeing her carefully as Sherlock, who was standing behind them by the sofa, paused in pulling on his own black blazer to look over to them with a small frown, "Amelia…" he said slowly, sounding very concerned, "If you do this…"

"Then the whole world finds out the truth," she cut across him, nodding tiredly, "I _know_, John, I've spent the last three nights unable to sleep soundly because of that. I've known my entire life that I wouldn't be able to keep it hidden forever, that one day people would find out that my brother is a mastermind criminal. And yes," she sighed again, moving to sit in Sherlock's chair, only just resisting the urge to pull on her hair, "I'm well aware that once it all comes out today, my entire reputation is ruined. The press will practically eat me alive, my career…" she broke off with a mocking laugh, one that made Sherlock and John exchange a slightly concerned look, "Who is going to want a criminals twin sister to take on their case after this?"

"John's right," Sherlock remarked suddenly.

John blinked, glancing back over to his flatmate with wide eyes, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" he asked, a smile crossing his face.

Sherlock gave him an exasperated look, before focusing on Amelia, his expression softening slightly, "You don't have to speak today," he continued as if John hadn't spoken, "And as for your career if you do decide to…" his voice grew firmer, "If people want to bring their cases to me, then they will have to bring them to you".

Amelia stared at him for a long moment, quite shocked, "Sherlock, that's…" she shook her head and stood, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug before he could try to escape. He didn't exactly hug her back at first, he seemed to startled and unsure of just what he was supposed to do as he stood stoic still for a second or two, before hesitantly hugging her back, awkwardly patting her back.

John's eyes widened as he looked at them both, unsure of just what he was witnessing happening before him. As far as he knew they had barely brushed hands in the past and he couldn't even recall ever seeing Sherlock be hugged before, let along hugging someone back, be it very stiffly, and Amelia wasn't the most huggie type, either. He was half tempted to check out the window to make sure the world wasn't ending, or that a great wave of water wasn't about to crash over London and destroy everything. First Moriarty finally got caught by the police and now Sherlock and Amelia were hugging? That had to mean something was about to happen to the planet.

Amelia pulled back from Sherlock, finding it quite amusing to notice a faint pink colouring high in his cheekbones, "Do you really mean that?" she questioned, smiling at him, "That, regardless of whether or not speaking today might destroy my career, you will still want me to work with you? You do realise that this could mean that you won't get many cases for a while, right?"

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly awkwardly, meeting her eyes, "Of course I'm serious," he said, rolling his eyes at her as if she was being purposely idiotic, "And yes, I realise, but I don't doubt Scotland Yard will need our help quite soon and Lestrade already knows".

She grinned broadly, trying hard to hold herself back from hugging him again, knowing that he wouldn't be overly keen on another hug any time soon, but she had just been so surprised and touched by what had said, and with everything else that was going on, she just couldn't stop herself. It was either that or burst into tears, and she was not going to ruin her makeup when she knew there was a crowd of reporters gathering outside the front door, waiting for them, "You have no idea how much that means to me," she settled on saying instead.

"I think I have some idea," he muttered, smoothing down the front of his shirt and blazer.

"What are you going to do?" John looked to Amelia, making her smile fade to be replaced with a heavy sigh.

"I have to speak," she said after a moment, her expression determined, "I've been scared of him since I was eighteen, scared of what a connection to him could do to me, but if I can use that to see him behind bars, then I'll do it. I can't be selfish about this anymore, because I have been. I could have seen him brought down years ago and I did nothing because I didn't want it to affect my career, but that was wrong. It's time for that to change, so yes," she lifted her head higher, nodding, "I'm going to give my evidence and then, probably go into hiding for the next year from the press," she finished, only half joking at the end.

John gave her a small smile, knowing how hard she was trying to seem as if she was okay, when she wasn't. How could anyone be okay when they were about to public admit one of their biggest secrets? But she was making an effort to try and seem like she was handle it all fine, so he decided it was better not to mention anything and just wait to be there when it eventually all came crumbling down, with Sherlock, of course. Sherlock was not going to just leave an upset and crying Amelia simply to him to have to handle all by himself.

"We should be going," Sherlock commented, checking his watch, catching both of their attention.

Amelia nodded, her cheeks growing quite pale as she hastily cast her reflection another look, before grabbing her black Dolce and Gabbana handbag, reaching inside it to remove a pair of black rounded sunglasses, and moving to follow Sherlock out the living room door. John hurried after them, heading off downstairs, and down the hallway towards the front door. Sherlock and Amelia moved to stand against the wall as John walked past them, grabbing the door handle, the three of them knowing what was waiting for them outside.

John paused, taking a deep breath as he glanced back to them, "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Sherlock replied, and for the first time he had actually seemed slightly nervous. Amelia wasn't the only one to be speaking today, he would be too. Amelia slipped her sunglasses on, trying to prepare herself as she gave John a nod.

John tried to brace himself as he turned the doorhandle and pulled it open. At once, the sound of people shouting and calling out questions greeted them, almost at a deafening noise levels as they stepped outside. Police officers were there to hold the reporters back, trying to clear a free path for the three of them towards the waiting police car at the curb as they tried desperately to ignore the clicking of cameras going off all around them and shouting. Sherlock was behind Amelia, his hand resting lightly on her lower back as she kept her face down and her eyes focused on her shoes, just trying to keep the heel of John's dress shoes in her line of sight as she moved.

Finally, they reached the car and quickly climbed inside the back, Sherlock slamming his door closed as the reporters tried swarming around the car with their cameras pressed against the windows but thankfully, the driver drove off down the street the moment the door was shut, heading to the Old Bailey Court with the sirens blearing.

Amelia released a shaky breathe, closing her eyes in relief of getting out of the crazy mess of reporters. Sherlock and John had managed to shield her from a lot of the reporters that had managed to get through the police guard, but she had still been slightly jostled and overwhelmed by all the noise. She wasn't used to so many people trying to talk to her or shoving cameras in her face, her eyes were still feeling funny after all the flashes even with the sunglasses shielding them.

"That was completely mental," she murmured, before sighing as she opened her eyes again, "But, I suppose it could have been worse".

"It's only going to get worse when we get to the court," John sighed, looking out the window as the car began to drive around Trafalgar Square. He cleared his throat, glancing past Amelia to Sherlock, "Remember…" he began.

"Yes," Sherlock cut him off instantly, not looking away from his own window.

"Remember…" he tried again, more insistently.

"Yes".

"Sherlock," Amelia sighed, shaking her head, "Just let him talk".

John looked away for a moment, frustrated, before looking back over to Sherlock, "Remember what they told you," he said quickly, finally managing to get it out without an interruption, his eyes fixed on his flatmate, "Don't try to be clever…"

"No," Sherlock spoke over him, but he simply continued. Amelia nudged Sherlock's side with a pointed look.

"…and_ please_, just keep it simple and brief".

He rolled his eyes, exasperated, "God forbid one of the star witnesses at the trial should come across as intelligent," he muttered sarcastically.

"'Intelligent?' Fine. Let's give 'smart-arse' a wide berth".

There was a short pause as Amelia looked between her two friends, just knowing that Sherlock was going to completely ignore every word that John had said.

"I'll just be myself," Sherlock eventually replied, looking back out the window.

"Are you listening to me?" John demanded, annoyed, sounding more like he was talking to a child rather than a grown man.

Amelia sighed, "Just leave it, John," she told him tiredly, glancing over to him. She really didn't have enough patients to be doing this today, but she did feel bad for Sherlock. She understood where a lot of his frustration and irritation at people came from, she just was better at handling it then him, "Sherlock's is going to do whatever he wants, hounding him to behaviour like a misbehaving child is pointless. If he gets thrown out, I'll bail him out and _then_ you can tell him off".

John blinked at her in surprise as she looked back to stare out the front window, completely ignoring both men. Sherlock was even looking at her in surprise, but he soon looked back outside his own window, the corner of his mouth twitching. It wasn't very often Amelia said something like that to John, but he had to admit, he was just slightly grateful.

….

"Okay, just keep calm," Amelia whispered to her own reflection as she stood in the ladies bathroom of the court, looking up at the mirror on the wall before her. She was going to be called first to speak, then followed by Sherlock, and she was completely terrified.

"Crown versus Moriarty," the tanny announced through the speakers, echoing off the bathroom tiles, "Please proceed to Court Ten".

Amelia swallowed and glanced down at the tapes on the sink beneath the mirror, but she shook her head at herself. She longed to just throw water on her face to try and rid herself to nauseating feeling that was washing over her, but she couldn't with her makeup. Instead, she slipped her handbag open and pulled out her lipstick, quickly freshening up her lips. She had always loved to wear bold red lipstick and it was her favourite colour. It had been a trait she had shared with her Mother, and in a way it was almost empowering. She always felt better when she wore it, sadly it didn't seem to be working quite as well for her today.

She slipped it back into her bag and carefully dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a piece of tissue, before giving her reflection one last look. She didn't look very empowered, more frightened and terribly nervous, but what more could she do? She sighed and headed for the door, slipping outside to look around. John would have already left for the court room, but Sherlock had only just ducked into the bathroom before she had. She slipped her bag over her shoulder and began to head off down the hallway, when she heard a muffled female voice coming from the male bathroom.

She frowned and turned back to eye the door with the little stick figure man stuck on plaque on the door. That had definitely been a women's voice and it was coming from the wrong bathroom…she hesitated, casting a quick look behind her, but the room was practically empty and those who were around seemed too busy to pay any attention to her. She pushed the door open and moved to step inside, her curiosity getting the better of her, only to stop short as she found Sherlock standing rather close to a young red headed women, her hair tied up in pigtail plaits and with a deerstalker hat on. She also had several 'I Heart Sherlock' badges pinned to her front, Amelia noted as they both looked over to her as the door swung closed behind her.

"Unbelievable," Amelia said after a moment, exasperated, shaking her head as she looked at the woman, "Is there nowhere that the press won't go to get a story?"

A smile worked its way across the woman's face as she moved towards her, "Amelia Wilson," she remarked, "So it's true. You're just as good as he is," she nodded her head back to Sherlock.

Amelia gave her a tight smile, "No comment," she looked past her to Sherlock, "We should be going, Holmes".

Sherlock seemed more than happy to leave as he pushed past the women, heading for the door with Amelia, but the women chased after them, "You two, just platonic?" she asked hurriedly as they both ignored her, "Can I put you down for a 'no' there, as well?" she managed to bet Amelia to the door, pushing herself in front of the door, blocking them. She looked between them both as Sherlock looked as if he was only just stopping himself from snapping angrily and Amelia could feel her own temper starting to rise, "There's all sorts of gossip in the press about you two," she continued, "Sooner or later you're gonna need someone on your side…" she reached into her pocked and withdrew a business card, slipping it into Sherlock's breast pocket, "…someone to set the record straight".

He smiled sarcastically at her, as if she had said something very funny, "And you think you're the girl for that job, do you?"

"I'm smart, and you can trust me, totally".

"Smart, okay," he nodded, humouring her for the moment, "Investigative journalist. Good. Well, look at me and tell me what you see," he told her, swaying around slightly in front of her as she simply blinked at him blankly, "If you're that skilful, you don't need an interview. You can just _read_ what you need," he paused, watching her carefully as she simply looked awkward, not meeting his eyes. Amelia sighed slightly, "No?" he raised his eyebrows at her, "Okay, my turn," he began to pace around her, talking fast, "I look at you and I see someone who's still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them".

"That's actually quite a nice skirt," Amelia commented, glancing down at the dark grey pencil skirt the women was wearing, "Expansive, nice fabric, however it's at least three years old and has been rehemmed twice during that time," her eyes lingered on the faint lines that ran around the hemline, "Which means that it's the only expansive one that you own. And then there's your nails…" her eyes drifted down to rest on her fingers, focusing on the badly chipped, reddish nail polish that had practically all worn off now, "A women in your profession wouldn't allow her nails to ever get into that state, so you can't afford to have them done very often".

"I see someone who's hungry," Sherlock went on, stepping closer to her as he narrowed his eyes at her, "I don't see smart, and I _definitely_ don't see trustworthy, but I'll give you a quote if you like. Three little words…" he reached down and took a small Dictaphone that she had hidden in her jacket pocket, holding it up to his mouth as she looked hopeful, "You…" he said into the device, deliberately slow, "…repel….me".

And with that, he turned and left the bathroom. Amelia cast the women a quick, almost sympathetic look as she followed after him. She couldn't help feeling just a little sorry for the women; after all, she was only doing her job and trying to get ahead, just like everyone else.

….

Amelia took a deep breath as she stood in the witness box of the court room, trying with all her willpower not to look in the direction of her brother standing in the dock across the room from her, feeling everyone's eyes on her around the room. John gave her an encouraging nod from where he was sitting in the public gallery upstairs and she weakly returned it, her eyes drifted over to where Sherlock was sitting on one of the polished wooden benches towards the front of the court room, and their eyes meet briefly for a moment before she pulled her attention back to the prosecuting barrister, a Miss Sorrel as she stepped forward.

"Miss Wilson," the women began, her voice ringing out loudly and clearly throughout the entire room, "That is your name, correct?"

"Legally, yes," Amelia confirmed, pleased to hear that her voice didn't sound nearly as shaky or nervous as she had feared it would.

"But it's not the name on your birth certificate, is it?"

"No," she swallowed, squeezing her clasped hands together tightly, "I changed it when I turned eighteen to Wilson. It was my Mother's maiden name".

"For the benefit of the court, can you please tell us what your last name was before you changed it?"

Amelia hesitated, feeling as if her heart was about to burst out of her chest with how fast it was beating, but she had to do this. She took a deep breath and looked up, finally allowing her eyes to land on James as he simply watched on with an almost bored expression, "Moriarty," she answered, ignoring the whisperings and gasps that broke out up in the public gallery, "Amelia Grace Moriarty is my birth name".

The whispering continued, and the judge sighed in exasperation and tapped his gavel on the wooden bench before him, "Silence in the gallery!" he ordered, and the whispering stopped at once. He looked back down to the prosecuting barrister, "Go on, Miss Sorrel".

Sorrel inclined her head towards him, turning back to face Amelia, "Any relation to the defendant?" she asked.

Amelia licked her lips nervously. This was the moment, the moment in which the entire world would find out the truth, "He's my twin brother," she said quietly, but the entire room still heard.

Sorrel nodded, ignoring the small outbreak of whispering that was once again moving through the room, "And how would you describe your relationship with him?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows.

She sighed heavily, "We don't really have one," she replied, knowing that Sorrel was just doing this to show the jury a deeper depth of her brother's personality, "We were never close as kids, the only reason we ever played together was because neither of us had anyone else, and even then it usually ended in tears".

"Can you please elaborate further?"

"James tended to play rough. He pushed me out of a tree once and broke my arm, he hit me more times than I can count. I even recall an incident when he locked me a basement when he accused me of cheating during a game of hide and seek. In the end, I refused to play with him ever again".

"Siblings are known to fight, how was this any different?"

"Siblings fight, yes. Sometimes they even accidently hurt each other, but none of this was accidental," she raised her eyebrows, her tone growing slightly sarcastic, "The _difference_ is that James was perfectly aware of everything he did and he did it knowing that it would cause me distress, and he proved that with each and every single time that he ever caused me pain or upset me. So no, we were never close as children, he was a bully and he frightened me".

"And what about now?" Sorrel asked, tilted her head, "As adults, has that changed?"

"Well, he hasn't exactly had much of a chance to pull my hair, so that's changed," Amelia remarked a little more sarcastically then she had meant, but it had just slipped out without even thinking about it. A few people muffled their laughter as she noticed John shake his head with a warning look and Sherlock smirking.

The judge sighed, "Miss Wilson," he said in a warning tone.

Amelia sighed again, "As I said, my brother and I don't have much of a relationship," she continued hurriedly, really not wishing to end up being sent out, and here she and John had thought Sherlock was going to be the issue, "After our Dad died when we were nineteen, I lost track of him," she shrugged, "Which was perfectly fine with me. I saw him again, briefly, while I was working in America, and you could say that I would have preferred it if he had left me alone".

"How so?"

"He threatened to kill me if I didn't return to England and went so far as to send a hitman after me to make sure I knew he was serious," she said, her voice light, "Needless to say, I arrived back in London two days later. Once again I lost track of him and for five years I saw nor heard nothing of him. I began working with Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson, and during our very first case was the first time I had any contact with my brother," she paused, reconsidering her words, "Well, I received a text message from him, I didn't reply back".

Sorrel moved back over to where she had a set of notes sitting on her table, quickly checking something, "'A Study in Pink,' that was the first time in five years that you had any contact with him?" she questioned, moving back towards the witness box.

Amelia noted with some amusement the flash of annoyance that crossed Sherlock's face at the name, "Yes," she confirmed.

"And since then, have you had any other contact with him?"

"Aside from when he kidnapped myself and Doctor Watson, and almost blew us all up? Yes, briefly," she tried to ignore the surprised look that she knew John must have had cross his face, "Shortly before last Christmas he tracked me down in a café while I waited for a friend to arrive".

"And what was the context of your conversation?"

"Mainly it was him making threats against people's lives, nothing out of the ordinary," she replied, making sure to only tell half the story and gloss over quite a bit of what really happened. She still remembered just what he had said he would do if she told anyone to much of what happened, she wasn't going to take that risk, even now.

Sorrel nodded, "I have one last question, Miss Wilson," she told her, "You said that as a child you were afraid of your brother, would you say that that is still true today?"

Amelia hesitated, swallowing hard as her eyes came to land on her brother, who actually seemed to be enjoying himself slightly, "I think…" she began, her voice low and very serious, meeting his eyes, "That anyone who isn't afraid of him is a fool. He is, without a doubt, the most dangerous man I have ever meet, so…yes," she forced herself to look back to Sorrel, "I am afraid of him, possibly more afraid of him than any other criminal on the planet, because I know him and just what he is capable of, and this is _nothing_ compared to what he has done in the past".

Silence filled the room as Sorrel maintained eye contact with her for a long moment, "Thank you, Miss Wilson," she inclined her head towards her, "That will be all".

….

It was Sherlock's turn to take the witness box, while Amelia took a seat on the prosecution side of the court room, sitting towards the front row, feeling as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders after speaking. She had been warned that given her connection to James that she might be called as a witness again at another time, but right now she could care less. Still, she knew that the relief would be short lived once the truth hit the press, she didn't doubt that she would end up spending the next few weeks locked away back at Baker Street. Good news for catching up on TV, bad news for her shopping habit, since she really did hate buying online.

"A 'consulting criminal?'" Sorrel repeated, raising her eyebrows at Sherlock after she had asked him to classify exactly what he believed Moriarty's profession to be.

"Yes," Sherlock confirmed.

"Your words," she continued, "Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire".

"A transman?"

"Yes," he nodded, so far managing to keep his answers brief, just as John had reminded him to do.

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating?"

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler".

A few people muffled their laughter around the room as Sorrel even hid her own smile. Amelia's mouth twitched very slightly, just imagining John's sigh.

"Would you describe him as…" Sorrel began, her smile fading.

"Leading," Sherlock cut across her.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Can't do that," he went on, his eyes flickering back over to her, "You're leading the witness, you did it earlier with Amelia, too," he looked over to where the defending barrister was sitting on the other side of the room, while Amelia sighed slightly, "He'll object and the judge will uphold".

The judge cast him an exasperated look, this having not been the first time Sherlock had made a remake about the way the prosecuting barrister had posed a question, "Mr Holmes…" he started in a warning tone.

"Ask me_ how_," Sherlock went on to Sorrel, "_How_ would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this?" he shook his head at her in annoyance as Amelia reached up to rub her forehead.

"Mr Holmes," the judge said warily, "We're fine without your help".

"_How_ would you describe this man, his character?" Sorrel corrected, raising her eyebrows at Sherlock.

"First mistake," he said, his eyes moving up towards the dock to land on Moriarty, who looked back at him quite calmly, "James Moriarty _isn't_ a man at all, he's a spider; a spider at the centre of a web, a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances".

James smirked back at him and nodded very slightly, almost as if he was approving of his description.

The prosecuting barrister cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing down at something written in her notes on the table before her, "And how long…" she began.

"No, no," Sherlock shook his head, closing his eyes briefly in exasperation, "Don't…don't _do_ that," he told her, "That's really not a good question".

"Mr Holmes!" the judge called angrily, starting to lose his patients. Amelia bit her lip, hoping Sherlock would notice her warning look.

"How long have I known him?" he sighed, before looking back over to Sorrel, "Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total," he informed the rest of the room, "I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up," his voice grew sarcastic, "I felt we had a special something".

The judge frowned and looked over to the prosecuting barrister, "Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just _five minutes_?" he questioned, highly doubtful.

Sorrel opened her mouth to reply, but Sherlock cut across her again, "Two minutes would have made me an expert," he said to the judge, "Five was ample".

"Mr Holmes, that's a matter for the jury".

"Oh, really?" he raised his eyebrows, his voice light as he looked across the room to the twelve men and women sitting in the jury box. Amelia sighed heavily, almost groaning aloud as she realised that this really wasn't going to end well. He eyed them carefully for a moment, "One librarian," he deduced, "Two teachers, two high-pressured jobs, probably the City," he seemed to focus on a women taking notes on the far left of the front row, "The foreman's a medical secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand," he determined, making the women look up in surprise.

"Mr Holmes!"

He completely ignored the judge, still running his eyes over the jury, "Seven are married and two are having an affair…with each other, it would seem!" a man and women sitting together at the back row awkwardly avoided looking at each other, "Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits," he turned to look back at the judge, raising a slightly mocking eyebrow, "Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

"Mr Holmes!" the judge snapped angrily, "You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess…"

Sherlock took a deep breath and glanced across to Amelia, smirking at the remark on his intelligence. Amelia rolled her eyes slightly and tried to give him a stern look, mouthing, 'please, behaviour for John's sake,' but she doubted he would actually listen to her. He never did and he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"Keep your answers brief and to the point," the judge continued firmly, "Anything else will be treated as contempt…" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without _showing off_?" he shouted the last two words furiously.

"Oh, dear God…" Amelia breathed, closing her eyes tightly and shaking her head. And to think, she had actually thought Holmes might be able to keep his mouth shut for a few minutes, how laughably wrong could you get?

Sherlock paused, almost as if he was considering the question, before he opened his mouth to draw in a breathe…

_**I apologise for how long it's taken me to actually get this posted, I've had it written for the past several weeks, but I just got a new laptop after my old one died suddenly and it has taken this long to get Word put back on it, hence the delay. Anyway, the truth is finally out there, so just how will this effect things for Moriarty and his whole 'Richard Brook' persona? We also finally got a Sherlock and Amelia hug, more progress towards romance. **_

_**I have already finished the next chapter and I have half of the one after that written up, too, so hopefully it won't be too much of a wait for another update. We are getting closer to the end of season 2 and I really would prefer to be onto the third season before the fourth season comes out. Amelia's outfit will be on my profile and Tumblr. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_

_**Guest review:**_

_**LadyRedStar: **__**It's fine, I completely understand and I am just happy that you have taken the time to read the chapter. Well, anyone who has read my Doctor Who story would be able to tell you that I love writing banter, and Sherlock and Amelia's banter is more like friendly insults and teasing, which is very fun to write and yes, quite similar to an old married couple. I hope you liked how the episode has started out so far and that you've enjoyed it. Thanks for the review :)**_


	12. Chapter 12 The Reichenbach Fall, Part 2

_**The Reichenbach Fall, Part 2**_

Amelia couldn't say that she was the slightest bit surprised as, later on that afternoon, once the trial had been ended for the day, she found herself leaning back against a high desk, watching as Sherlock filled out paper work for the return on his belongings, a slightly disgruntled expression on his face after having spent the past two hours stuck in a holding cell at the back of the court house, just simply because he couldn't help himself and had let his mouth run wild without any care for the warning that the judge had already given him several times before hand. Now, not only had he been thrown out of the room for the rest of the day, but he had also been banned from attended the rest of the court hearing.

John, on the other hand, was less then pleased with his flatmates childish behaviour as he stood beside Amelia with his arms crossed across his chest, looking off down the tiled hallway that lead to the holding cells, "What did I say?" he was saying in a flat, exasperated voice, "I said, 'Don't get clever'".

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap," Sherlock replied, finishing signing his final signature with a irritated flourish of his wrist, pushing the paper towards the desk sergeant standing on the other side of the desk.

"He does have a point, John," Amelia cut in, earning a startled look from John, clearly having expected that she would be on his side. She couldn't blame him for assuming so, she did usually take John's side when it came to scolding Sherlock for his behaviour, but when it came to this, she had an understanding of just how hard it was not to blurt out things and tried to make an effort not to do so unless it had something to do with a case, though she had to admit that sometimes her mouth filter didn't work. That, and she knew exactly how annoying it was to be questioned like they had been, even she had very nearly slipped up and said something that could have had her spending two hours in one of the holding cells, so she really couldn't blame Holmes for letting his annoyance and mouth get the best of him.

"You're taking his side?" John blinked at her, surprised, "_Again_?"

"It must be a record," Sherlock remarked lightly, sounding almost amused as the desk sergeant handed him a plastic bag filled with his belongings that they had removed before sticking him in the cell. He immediately opened the bag and pulled out his phone, tucking it into his inner breast pocket of his blazer.

Amelia shrugged with a small smile on her face, "I can just sympathise with how hard it is not to say something sarcastic when you're up there, being asked all those annoying questions," she said, before throwing Sherlock a quick look, "And it's even harder when you don't bother to try and keep what you notice to yourself on a daily bases. I probably would have ended up in the same position had I not had more practice at controlling my own mouth".

Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly as he began to lead the way down the hallway, "I would hardly say that you have more control over what you say then I do," he shook his head back at her.

She raised her eyebrows at him, a smirk crossing his face, "Out of the two of us, which one just wasted two hours of their life sitting in a holding cell, Homes?" she shot back, her voice sounding sweet.

He cast her a quick look over his shoulder, realising that she had him there, and the triumphant glimmer in her eyes told him that she was well aware that she had won this round and was taking great pleasure in it. He huffed slightly, trying hard to ignore her expression as he glanced back to John, "Well?" he asked, sounding slightly more impatient then he had meant to.

John frowned at him, wondering if he was trying to get him to come to his defence against Amelia, though he highly doubted it. Both of them were too proud to ever try to get him to take one of their sides when they argued, which was one of the perks of being friends with them, he supposed. He never had to worry about having to choose a side, "Well what?" he questioned, confused.

"You were both there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, John, start to finish".

He nodded, realising that he was talking about the defending barrister, "Like you said it would be," he told him, "He sat on his backside, never even stirred".

"James isn't even bothering to try and defend himself," Amelia sighed, looking grim and very concerned as she meet Sherlock's eyes. Her brother was definitely up to something, and she didn't doubt that it wouldn't be very pleasant.

….

Battling through the press to try and get to the waiting police car was even worse than it had been that morning, and Amelia had been forced to be practically sandwiched between John and Sherlock with her head down and her sunglasses shielding her eyes from view, but even still, she had still felt as if she had been thrown into a blender with all the shoving and pushing that had been coming from each side of her, the police apparently having underestimated just how determined the press would be to try and get to the three of them.

Thankfully, they had soon reached the safety of the back of the police car and driven away from all the craziness back to Baker Street where only a small group of reporters had remade, waiting for their arrival. They quickly dashed past them and over to the front door, escaping inside to the peace and quiet that the thick brick walls provided from the shouting outside. Amelia was so grateful to be back somewhere that she felt safe and familiar that she felt half tempted to just sink down on the bottom step of the staircase, and close her eyes for a few minutes or, better yet, a few weeks.

Somehow, she managed to resist the temptation as she followed John and Sherlock up the stairs, slipping her sunglasses off and tucking them back inside her handbag as she stepped into the living room behind John, who was continuing their discussion from the police car.

"Bank of England," he was listing off, moving further into the room, "Tower of London, Pentonville. Three of the most secure places in the country and six weeks ago Moriarty breaks in, no-one knows how or why," he shook his head, sitting down in his armchair, while Sherlock began pacing back and forth between the coffee table and the fireplace, Amelia taking a seat on the sofa with a small sigh, "All we know is…" he went on, trailing off slightly.

"…he ended up in custody," Sherlock finished, and stopped pacing, glancing back to him with an expectant look.

John took a deep breath, "Don't do that," he said, shaking his head at his flatmate.

Amelia and Sherlock both frowned at him, confused, "Do what?" Sherlock questioned.

"The_ look_," he informed them, casting Amelia a quick glance, adding, "_Both _of you".

"What look?" Amelia looked at him curiously, wondering what an Earth he was going on about. She hadn't thought she was pulling a face or looking at him any differently.

He sighed, looking back to them, "You're both doing the look again".

Sherlock continued to frown, glancing over to Amelia, who could only shrug, just as clueless as him. He turned back to John, "Well, neither Amelia nor I can see it, can we?" he narrowed his eyes at his flatmate, who simply waved a hand over to the mirror hanging over the fireplace mantle. He turned his head to look at his own reflection, Amelia feeling too comfortable after a long day to bother moving, "It's my face," he said, turning back to John, still very confused.

"Yes, and it's doing a thing, just like Amelia's".

"I haven't developed an eye twitch again, have I?" Amelia asked, only half joking as she quickly pulled her makeup compact out of her handbag and checked her reflection, but it seemed perfectly fine to her, though her makeup around her eyes had smudged slightly over the day and her lipstick could do with a fresh coat, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with her face.

John sighed, growing slightly exasperated as they both seemed to be completely clueless as to what he was trying to tell them, "You're both doing the 'we all know what's really going on here' faces," he clarified.

"Well, we _do_," Sherlock said simply, frowning at him, even more confused now.

"No. _I_ don't, which is why I find you're expressions so annoying".

"Oh," Amelia said slowly, blinking at him as if it had only just occurred to her that John might not realise what was going on. She quickly gave him a apologetic look and sat forward in her seat, "It's really quite simple," she began, "If James really wanted to have the Crown Jewels, he would have simply have taken them".

"If he wanted those prisoners free, they'd be out on the streets," Sherlock added, nodding, "The only reason he's still in a prison cell right now is because he _chose_ to be there," he turned away and started pacing once more as John considered what they had said, "Somehow this is a part of his scheme".

….

The trial continued on for another two days and still, the defending barrister refused to call any witness. Amelia and Sherlock remained behind at Baker Street while John attended, Sherlock due to his bane and Amelia due to not wishing to run into the press. Her relationship with James was headline news and the media certainly seemed to be having a ball with it, there had even been an article about it in the New York Times, much to Amelia's horror. It was bad enough that the United Kingdom couldn't seem to stop talking about it, let alone other countries.

She had been stuck inside for two days, desperately trying to avoid the windows and anything news related, which meant that her laptop, phone, and TV were practically off limits unless she was watching a movie. It was slowly driving her insane, not being able to go outside, and she even had to get Molly to do some grocery shopping for her after she had run out her stash of chocolate that she kept in case she felt moody. At this rate, she was going to be lucky to still be able to fit into a size UK ten and her rather poor attempt to stay fit by going for an early morning jog was out of the question for the time being, though she couldn't say that she was missing that too much. Exercising was painful enough, let alone trying to do it while having cameras flashing at you, and they always had to print the unflattering pictures of you. She was really starting to understand why celebrities ended up getting into fights with reporters after all the hounding she had received, and it had only been two days.

Amelia sighed, casting her eyes around her living and dining room, but there was nothing left for her to try and clean, she was finally caught up on all of her TV shows, and had even got around to going through her wardrobe to get rid of things she no longer wanted or wore. Perhaps, once things had settled down a bit, she would see if Molly wanted to keep anything before she sent the bags off to the local women's shelter, though she doubted it. Molly was far more comfortable in a cardigan then a Westwood dress, but it would still be fun. The last time she had cleaned out her wardrobe, she and Molly had had a couple of glasses of wine and spent the night playing dress ups like a couple of tipsy six year olds, Molly had even been tipsy enough to let Amelia give her a mini makeover. She had to admit, it really would be a nice distraction from what was going on to just have a fun girls night like that, they hadn't had one since she had started working with Sherlock, something she strongly suspected was due to Molly's probable fear that Sherlock might walk in and find them both sitting in ball gowns, watching some sappy, disgustingly romantic movie that Amelia would never ordinarily have watched without being half drunk, and she had to admit, that was quite likely to happen, too.

She smiled slightly to herself just thinking about what Sherlock's expression would be like, but her smile quickly faded as she found her eyes moving towards the clock. The judge was supposed to be giving his speech to the jury today to ask them for their final verdict on the accused, and while each second ticked by, she couldn't help feeling nervous and jittery. She longed to go outside and walk around the block, just to do something to keep her mind of thinking about it anymore then she already did, but her options were very limited, unless she decided to brave the reporters outside.

She sighed again and stood, making her way over to the door that lead out onto John and Sherlock's landing. She gave their living room door a quick knock before swinging it open, more out of habit then anything. Sherlock was sitting sideways on the sofa, staring off into space across the room with his blue dressing gown on over his regular clothing. His eyes flickered over to her as she quietly closed the door behind her.

"It must be a bad day for you, Amelia," he remarked, a hint of teasing in his tone as he took her appearance in. Her hair was up in a rather messy pony tail, no makeup, and she was just simply wearing a pair of old jeans and a jumper that had a small hole in the cuff of the right sleeve, "I hardly recognise you without a designer label in sight".

"My shoes are Converses," she pointed out, moving to take a seat in John's chair. She glanced down at herself and shrugged, "Even I have comfort clothes, Holmes. I've had this jumper since my first year at university," she smiled faintly, toying with the hole in the cuff.

"Yes, it looks like it".

She rolled her eyes, not in the slightest bit offended by his insult toward her jumper. Yes, it looked terribly shabby and she would never dream of wearing it anywhere outside Baker Street, but it carried a history with it that made it impossible for her to just get rid of it because of a few holes and a lose thread here and there. It had gone with her to university and it was still with her now, and she suspected that she would probably still have it if she got the chance to live into her eighties, "What can I say?" she said with another small shrug, looking back over to him, "I can be very sentimental at times, I even kept a small jar of rice from my wedding and a copy of the very first murder case I ever worked on".

"Sentiment will do you little good, Amelia," Sherlock told her, scoffing slightly as he rolled onto his back, pressing his hands together on top of his chest.

"It's worked for me thus far, Holmes. Besides, as you say, I can't turn it off and on like a tap".

His eyes flickered back over to her, and for a brief moment she thought he might smile, but her phone gave a loud ding and she instantly tensed. She had set her phone to alert her when it was time for the judge to give his speech and it seemed that the moment had finally come. She swallowed nervously, reaching inside her jeans pocket to check it quickly as Sherlock propped himself up on the arm of the sofa.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began, reciting what he expected the judge to be saying at that very moment, "James Moriarty stands accused of several counts of attempted burglary, crimes which, if he is found guilty, will elicit a very long custodial sentence; and yet his legal team has chosen to offer no evidence whatsoever to support their plea. I find myself in the unusual position of recommending a verdict wholeheartedly. You must find him guilty," he slowly closed his eyes as Amelia took a deep breath, "Guilty…" he breathed, his eyes still closed, seeming to be almost savouring the word.

Amelia wasn't nearly as relaxed, knowing perfectly well that her brother would never have allowed himself to be caught unless it had something to do with a larger plan, and he certainly wouldn't allow himself to be put behind bars like this. No, there was more at work here then they realised, she was certain of that.

Several minute's past by in silence, until Sherlock's phone began ringing loudly, making Amelia jump, having already been sitting on the edge of her seat, as it was. Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he reached into his dressing gown pocket and pulled it out, putting it on speaker.

"Not guilty," John's voice came over, the sound of traffic coming from his end, as if he was outside, "They found him _not_ guilty," Amelia sighed heavily, nodding to herself, completely unsurprised, "No defence, and Moriarty's walked free," he continued as Sherlock exchanged a long, grim look with Amelia, "Sherlock?" he called as no one made a sound, "Are you listening? He's out. You…you know that he'll be coming after you, maybe even Amelia. Sher…"

Sherlock ended the call with a click and stood, his eyes still on Amelia as she got onto her feet, too, somewhat surprised that her legs didn't feel as weak as she had expected them to at the news, "How does your brother take his tea?" he asked her, sounding very calm.

Amelia sighed and lifted a hand up to her forehead, unable to quite believe that they were both being so calm when they knew who was coming, "I haven't got a clue, Holmes".

He moved into the kitchen and hit the switch on the kettle to start boiling the water; while Amelia straightened the living room up a bit, though why she bothered she couldn't say, she just felt better when she was cleaning or tiding something when she was nervous. Soon enough, the kettle had finished boiling and Sherlock stepped back out with a tray with three tea cups on it, along with milk and sugar, sitting it down on the small table beside John's chair. He had taken the chance to switch his dressing gown for his blazer, and Amelia quickly pulled out hair out of its tie. It was still very messy and not up to her usual standard, but she was hardly doing it to impress her brother.

Uneasily, she moved to peer down at the street to see that the press had all disappeared, which was a welcome relief and to coincidental for her to not suspect that James might have had his hand in it. After all, he would hardly wish to be seen visiting Sherlock after this. She turned back around to see Sherlock lifting his violin up to rest below his chin as he calmly began to play Bach's 'Sonata No 1 in G minor,' and she couldn't help but feel slightly comforted by the familiar notes as she watched him play, his back turned to face the rest of the room. Something squeaked outside and he paused in his playing, both knowing that it was James, before he went on playing, picking up right from where he had left off.

Amelia tried very hard to keep her eyes on Sherlock's back as the living room door swung open with a creek, and Sherlock stopped playing again with a flourish of his wrist, lowering the bow slightly, still turned away to face the mirror over the mantle place, "Most people knock," he remarked, and shrugged, "But then you're not most people, I suppose," he lowered his violin and inhaled deeply, gesturing over towards where the tea tray was sitting, "Kettle's just boiled".

Amelia swallowed, her eyes fixed on James as he moved further into the room, resisting the urge to leave the room as she took a very small step back towards the window. She watched him for the slightest threatening move, not entirely sure what she would do even if he did show any sign of homicidal intent, but he seemed to be perfectly relaxed and calm as he stepped over to pluck a red apple out of a modern looking bowl sitting on the coffee table.

"Johann Sebastian would be appalled," James commented, tossing the apple in the air and catching it, his eyes coming to land on Amelia, "Amy," he greeted, giving her a smile that he knew she would find unsettling.

"James," Amelia said, forcing her voice to sound level.

He looked back around the room as if he was searching for a seat, "May I?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock finally turned around to face them, "Please," he used his bow to point at John's chair, but James ignored the offer and moved past him to take a seat in Sherlock's chair. Sherlock looked slightly unnerved, eyeing him warily out of the corner of his eye as he turned to place his violin down on a pile of books on the ground.

Amelia edged around where James was sitting, trying to make it seem causal as she moved to take a seat on the arm of John's chair as Sherlock began pouring the tea, and her nerves only worsened as she watched James pull out a penknife and start to cut into the apple. He really was trying to give her a stroke raising her blood presser like this, wasn't he?

"You know when he was on his death bed, Bach, he heard his son on at the piano playing one of his pieces," James told them, watching as Sherlock finished pouring tea into one cup, moving to pour tea into the second cup, "The boy stopped before he got to the end…"

"…and the dying man jumped out of his bed," Amelia and Sherlock cut in at the same time, both having heard the story hundreds of times, Amelia recalled a violin teacher who enjoyed telling the story whenever anything to do with Bach came up, "Ran straight to the piano and finished it".

"Couldn't cope with an unfished melody," James shook his head.

"You never have been able to, either," Amelia said, eyeing him carefully.

"That's why you've come," Sherlock agreed, finishing pouring the tea and adding a bit of milk into one of the cups.

"But be honest," James smiled up at Sherlock, "You're just a tiny bit pleased".

"What, with the verdict?" he asked, sitting the small milk jug down and picking up the cup, before turning and offering the cup to James.

James sat up straighter and took the cup, "With me…" his voice grew softer, "…back on the streets," he smirked up at Sherlock. Sherlock's expression remained carefully blank as Amelia looked between them, "Every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain," his smirk turned into a grin as Sherlock turned away to add milk into Amelia's cup, "You need me, or you're nothing," he continued, lifting his tea cup up to his mouth, "Because we're alike, you and I, except you're boring," he shook his head in disappointment, casting Amelia a quick, slightly mocking look, "You're on the side of the angels".

Amelia raised her eyebrows at him, "I would hardly call myself an angel," she said, accepting her own tea cup from Sherlock with a nod.

"Not when you were in school, true," James agreed, giving her a knowing look as Amelia felt the back of her neck warm slightly, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know that his words had any effect on her.

"I was eighteen and had money, of course I went out clubbing," she defended herself, shrugging, knowing what he was implying, "I had fun, partied more then I probably ought to have and I will freely admit that I was very self-absorbed and basically, acted just like any other rich teenage girl, but I cleaned up my act after Dad died. I wasn't that bad, I'm sure _you_ were doing far worse things than getting drunk in clubs and having one night stands with complete strangers," she said with cool tone of voice.

She might have been parting too hard and not studying as much as she probably should have been, but at least she wasn't building a criminal empire like she suspected James had been doing during his free time at that age.

Sherlock cleared his throat slightly, stirring his own tea cup, "Got to the jury, of course," he cut in, trying to change the subject, knowing just how easily it was for two siblings to get into a fight, and right now they had more important things to be discussing then how much of a wild child the teenage Amelia might have been. It was almost frightening to imagine just how much more high maintenance an eighteen year old Amelia must have been.

"I got into the Tower of London, you think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?" James raised his eyebrows at him, sitting his cup back in its saucer.

"Cable network," he muttered, rolling his eyes at himself for not making the connection sooner as he unbuttoned his blazer with one hand and sat down in his chair.

"Of course," Amelia nodded slowly, taking a sip of tea. It made perfect sense and was quite clever, she had to admit.

"Every hotel bedroom has a personalised TV screen…" James explained, smirking to himself, no doubt thinking about the people he had threatened and possibly even kidnapped to archive his freedom, "And every person has their pressure point, someone that they want to protect from harm," his eyes flickered between them both as he lifted his cup up to his mouth, "Easy-peasy".

"So how're you going to do it…" Sherlock looked at him carefully, pointedly blowing lightly on his tea, "…burn me?" he finished, not taking his eyes off the man sitting before him.

"Oh, that's the problem, the final problem," he said softly, still smirking, "Have you worked out what it is yet?" Sherlock took a sip of his tea as Amelia narrowed her eyes slightly at James, "What's the final problem?" his smirk turned into a mocking smile over the top of his cup, "I did tell you…" his voice turned sing-song, "…but did you listen?" he took a mouthful of tea and lowered his cup back down onto it's saucer, moving to rest his hand on his knee as he began drumming his fingers for a moment, drawing both Amelia and Sherlock's attention for a second. It almost seemed to have pattern to it, though Amelia didn't recognise it as any tune she had heard, "How hard do you find it to say, 'I don't know'?" he asked Sherlock.

Sherlock put his cup down on its saucer and shrugged, "I dunno," he replied causally, placing his cup back on the tray beside him.

"Oh, that's clever; that's very clever…" he chuckled, putting on an accent that instantly reminded Amelia of their Father's upper class accent, "_Awfully _clever…" he dropped the accent as Sherlock smiled tightly, looking away from him as he pressed is hands together, "Speaking of clever, have you told you're little friends yet?" he asked, his eyes flickering over to Amelia.

"Told them what?" he questioned calmly, not giving away what he truly thought or felt. Amelia struggled to maintain a neutral expression, not having needed Sherlock to tell her. She had worked it out easily on her own.

"Why I broke into those places and never took anything".

"No".

"But _you_ understand?" James raised his eyebrows at him, cutting a sliver of his apple with his knife.

"Obviously," Sherlock nodded.

"What about you, Amy?" he focused his attention on Amelia, putting the piece of apple into his mouth with the flat side of his knife.

"Of course," Amelia confirmed, fighting to keep her face blank, though she suspected that it would do little good when it came to James. They had grown up together, after all, he could probably read her like a book.

He turned his focus back on Sherlock, "Off you go, then," he told him with a nod.

"You want me to tell you what you already know?" Sherlock asked, raising his eyebrows at the other man sitting before him.

"No, I want you to _prove_ that you know it".

"You never took anything because you have no_ need_ to," Amelia answered, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

"Good," James nodded approvingly, his voice soft.

"You'll never need to take anything ever again," Sherlock added, his hand still pressed together in front of his mouth.

"Very good. Because…?"

"Because nothing…_nothing_ in the Bank of England, the Tower of London or Pentonville Prison could possibly match the value of the key that could get you into all three".

"I can open any door anywhere with a few lines of computer code," James agreed, smirking slightly as he shook his head, "No such thing as a private bank account now, they're all mine. No such thing as secrecy, I _own _secrecy," Amelia inwardly winced at the very idea of just what havoc he could cause, "Nuclear codes, I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world with locked rooms, the man with the key is king, and honey, you should_ see_ me in a crown," he smiled, seeming delighted with himself.

"That's why you allowed yourself to be caught," Amelia said slowly, the pieces finally falling into place of just why James would let himself be caught so easily, "It was all just for show so that you would have a nice, highly media covered platform for you to advertise to the rest of the world just what you're capable of doing".

"Is that a hint of admiration in your tone, dear sis?" he grinned over at her, raising an eyebrow.

Her expression grew hard as she met his eyes, "I admire the intelligence, not the criminal intent, James," she replied coldly, seeing no reason to pretend as if she wasn't impressed by just how clever his entire plan had been, but that didn't mean that she liked his reasoning for doing it.

"You should both be proud," he remarked, still grinning at them both, "You helped," Amelia and Sherlock exchanged a very quick, unsettled look, realising that they had helped him without even realising what they had been doing. They had both been fooled, "Big client list," he continued, "Rogue governments, intelligence communities…terrorist cells," he shook his head, "They all want me," he lifted another slice of apple up to his mouth on the edge of the knife, "Suddenly, I'm Mr Sex".

"And I feel ill," Amelia muttered, grimacing as he ate the slice of apple, smirking at them.

"If you could break any bank, what do you care about the highest bidder?" Sherlock frowned at him, narrowing his eyes slightly as the sound of James chewing the apple loudly echoed around the room.

"I don't," James said, shrugging, "I just like watching them all competing. 'Daddy loves _me_ the best!'" he smirked mockingly, "Aren't ordinary people adorable? Well, you know," he focused on Sherlock, "You've got John. I should get myself a live-in one," his eyes drifted away from them, as if he was actually imagining it.

Sherlock eyed him carefully, "Why are you doing all of this?" he questioned, his voice low.

"It'd be so funny…" he continued, still thinking about what it would be like to have a 'live-in' one, seeming to be ignoring Sherlock.

"You don't want money or power, not really," he shook his head, not taking his gaze off the other man as Amelia noticed James's stab his knife into the apple, "What_ is _it all for?"

James sat forward in his chair, leaning towards them as he looked directly at Sherlock, "I want to solve the problem, _our _problem," he told him softly, almost looking sympathetic, "The final problem," he lowered his head and shook his head slightly, "It's going to start very soon, Sherlock, the fall," he raised his head and whistled a slowly descending note as, at the same time, he lowered his gaze back down towards the floor, "But don't be scared. Falling's just like flying, except there's a more permanent destination," he said, and as his gaze hit the floor he made a thud sound as if something had hit the floor. He looked back up and glared at Sherlock, clearly sending a message.

Sherlock bared his teeth slightly and stood, re-buttoning his blazer as Amelia swallowed nervously, really not liking the expression on her brother's face, "Never liked riddles," Sherlock commented calmly, maintaining eye contact with the other man.

James stood, too, straightening his own blazer, "Learn to," he said, not looking away from him, "Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I…owe…you".

A long, tense moment passed between them as James kept his gaze locked on Sherlock, making sure that he knew that he was serious, before he turned and slowly began to walk out of the room, barely even looking at Amelia as he disappeared out onto the landing, his footsteps going down the steps sounding a second later.

Amelia released a breathe that she had been holding and her shoulders slumped, suddenly feeling as if she could very happily curl up in a ball in her bed for the next month. She looked back to Sherlock to see him picking up the penknife that James had left behind on the arm of the chair, stuck into the bottom the apple. He lifted it up and slowly turned it around to show that the letters 'I,' 'O,' and 'U' had been carved into the apple's flesh, forming his final promise: 'I O U'. Sherlock looked back to Amelia, who was staring at the message, before she slowly meet his eyes. His mouth twitched very slightly, knowing that the game was on.

_**I apologise for not having this chapter up as soon as I expected, but my first week of my school holidays were quite a lazy one when writing is concerned and I've only just found the motivation to start writing now that I only have a week left before going back. Anyway, the next chapter is almost completely finished and I know that this chapter is a bit shorter than normal, but I really wanted to cover the kidnapping case in one chapter, so expect for a long update next time. I hope you liked it, tell me what you thought. Please review :)**_


	13. Chapter 13 The Reichenbach Fall, Part 3

_**The Reichenbach Fall, Part 3**_

Two months had gone by since the trial had ended, and while the press had slowly started to move on to other stories, Amelia was still finding herself avoiding reading to many papers, preferring to skim the headlines, but even still, she still noticed a small headline at the bottom of the front page of 'The Sun' about a big expose that was supposed to be a 'tell all' about Sherlock from someone called Richard and Rachel Brook, apparently actors that Sherlock had hired to convince the public of Sherlock's amazing detective abilities.

Amelia had almost chocked on her mouthful of tea, caught between finding the entire article completely hilarious to downright ludicrous, but it had made far more sense after she had noticed the journalist name: Kitty Riley, the very same women who had cornered Sherlock in the bathroom at the courthouse and began badgering them both to let her interview them. And to think, she had actually felt sorry for the women after Sherlock had finished with her.

Well, she supposed that something like this was eventually going to happen to one of them, and Kitty Riley had been quite desperate to get her hands on a nice juicy story to impress her editor, no doubt she thought writing such an article would be a good way to get her own revenge back on Sherlock and maybe even turn a few members of the public against him…she paused, frowning as glanced back at the headline, a rather unsettling thought crossing her mind. If the paper was really willing to risk getting sued for slander, then surely they must feel that they have enough proof to actually run the article, which would have to mean that at least _some _of it was true and that this Richard and Rachel Brook really was real, otherwise they would never run the story.

Perhaps they were old school friends of Sherlock's after a bit of money and fame? That was possible, Amelia supposed, but she doubted if Sherlock ever really had any friends from school. Kids could be so much cruller then adults and Sherlock was hardly poplar now, so she found it hard to imagine that he would have been poplar during his school years, being so much different to the rest of his peers. No, this Richard and Rachel Brook must be someone else, but how on Earth did they manage to actually get any information, let alone the type of information that the article was alluding to, though there was no doubt in her mind that the entire thing about them having been paid by Sherlock to convince the press that Sherlock really was a brilliant detective was a complete lie. There would be some who would believe it, there always were with stories like that, but anyone who knew Sherlock would know the truth.

Deciding to see the humours side of the entire thing, Amelia left her dining table with her empty breakfast plate and tea cup, and quickly loaded them into the dish washer. She had already washed and blow-dried her hair before having something to eat, so she quickly set to work putting her hair up into a bun at the base of her neck, smoky eye shadow, red nail polish, and red lipstick. She had already picked out her clothes and laid them out over her made bed, which consisted of black suede Louboutin heels, a white doubled-breasted coat with a belt tied around it, and a fitted navy blue dress with a white lace panel going around the waist. She had also picked out a pair of pearl drop earrings, a matching single pearl necklace with a small diamond, and navy blue leather tote bag, along with a light navy blue and lace scarf.

Amelia quickly dressed, draping her coat and scarf over her arm as she held her handbags strap, and made her way out of her bedroom. She walked through her flat and over to the door adjoining Sherlock and John's flat, slipping through it to be welcomed to the sound of someone using a power drill downstairs in the entrance hall. Mrs Hudson had hired a couple of workmen to fix up some wiring a few days ago, she remembered as she walked across the landing to the open living room door, only to come to a stop. Lestrade and Dononvan were standing in the room, each holding a file as Sherlock moved about the room. They all glanced over at her as she entered.

"Ah, Amelia," Sherlock said, spinning around to look at her properly, "I was about to text you".

"What have I missed?" Amelia asked, before pausing, casting him a quick look as she only just resisted rolling her eyes at his laziness, "And I only live a few steps from you, you didn't need to text me".

Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see John had arrived, half jogging up the steps, "Sherlock, something weird…" he began, only to trail off as he notice Amelia standing just inside the living room, along with Lestrade and Donovan's presence. He glanced at Amelia, "What's going on?" he questioned, confused.

"Kidnapping," Sherlock informed them both as they moved further into the room, speaking fast as he took a seat at the dining table before his laptop, typing something into it.

"A kidnapping?" Amelia repeated, immediately growing concerned as she dumped her coat, scarf, and handbag on the sofa.

"Rufus Bruhl, the ambassador to the U.S," Lestrade told them, running his eyes down the open folder in his hands.

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John frowned, confused as to why Scotland Yard would be getting involved.

"Not him, his children," he explained, shaking his head, "Max and Claudette, age seven and nine," Donvan turned her own folder around so that they could see two pictures, one of a young, curly haired boy and another of a young, brunette girl taken at a beach somewhere. Amelia moved closer to the pictures, examining them closely for even the slightest detail of what the children might be like. If they managed to escape from the captures, however unlikely, it might help to work out where they would run to, "They're at St. Aldate's," Lestrade finished.

"That's a boarding school in Surrey," Amelia remarked before Donvan had a chance to tell John at his questioning look. She finished looking at the pictures and looked back up to find the others looking at her, "James went there when we were kids," she said at their looks, "I went there for a year because Mum didn't want to send us to far away from home, but she still insisted that I go to a French school once she felt that I had got used to be being away from home, so that I would have a better understanding of my cultural background," she rolled her eyes, really not seeing why it was necessary, even now.

Sherlock, who had stopped typing, was looking at her thoughtfully, "You're brother attended the same school?"

"Yes," she nodded, her voice growing grim, knowing that it couldn't possibly be a coincidence that two siblings had been abducted from the same school that James and she, however briefly, had both attended. James had to have something to do with this, he just had to.

He maintained eye contact with her for a moment before nodding to himself, as if it had confirmed exactly what he had suspected, and returned to his typing.

"Anyway," Lestrade cut in, frowning slightly as he looked between the two, before shaking his head, "The school broke up, all the other boarders went home," he told the detectives, "Just a few kids remained, including those two".

"The kids have vanished," Donovan added, and Amelia threw her a quick look, wondering why she bothered to even say that when they already knew.

"The ambassador's asked for you both personally," Lestrade said, looking back and forth between Amelia and Sherlock, who had already climbed onto his feet and grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, Amelia quickly moving for her own things as they headed for the door.

"The Reichenbach Heros," Donovan commented sarcastically, watching them go.

Sherlock and Amelia hesitated for a moment, Amelia struggling to stop herself from saying anything as they continued on their out the door, and off down the stairs.

"Isn't it great to be working with celebrities," Lestrade said, almost as sarcastic as Donovan, following behind them.

"Not funny, Lestrade!" Amelia called back over her shoulder to him, earning a laugh from the man.

…

St. Aldate's School was a large mansion that had clearly been turned into a school after once having been a private house. The building was large, built using pinkish bricks and set surrounded by open land with a long, gravel drive way that lead straight up to the front doors of the school. Uniformed police offers roamed around the area, searching for clues as Lestrade drove his unmarked police car up towards the school and pulled to a stop. They climbed out of the car and began to make their way up to the front of the school, where an older woman was sitting on the bonnet of a police car with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, being quietly comforted by a female officer. Sherlock looked questioningly at Lestrade.

"Miss Mackenzie, House Mistress," Lestrade quietly informed Sherlock and Amelia as they approached the women. He gave Sherlock a pointed look, "Go easy".

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued walking closer to the older women as Amelia followed, eyeing him carefully as they came to a stop before the upset women, "Miss Mackenzi," he began, his voice quickly taking on an accusing tone as he glared at her, "You're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night," his voice grew louder, until he was shouting angrily, and Amelia could only stare at him, shocked by what she was witnessing, "What are you, an idiot, a drunk, or a criminal?" he demanded furiously, suddenly pulling the blanket off Mackenzi's shoulders, the women gasping in fright, "Now quickly, tell me!"

"Dear God…" Amelia breathed her eyes wide as everyone looked over at them. She couldn't believe he would actually shout at a clearly already distressed woman and act as if the entire thing was her fault.

The poor women flinched away from him, looking completely terrified and tearful as he continued to glare her down, "All the doors and windows were properly bolted," she told them hurriedly, her voice shaking with fear, "No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!" she cried.

At once, Sherlock's entire demeanour changed and he broke into a reassuring smile, placing his hands gently on the women's shoulders, "I do," he assured her, "I just wanted you to speak quickly," he straightened and released the women, looking at a nearby policewomen as he began to walk into the school, "Miss Mackenzi will need to breathe into a bag now…"

He disappeared into the school as Amelia and John could only stare after him, Miss Mackenzi sobbing loudly as the policewomen moved to comfort her. Slowly, they looked at each other and shook their heads, following after Sherlock, still slightly stunned by what he had just done to get an already upset woman to speak quickly, and while Amelia did hate to admit, she could see the logic in doing so, though she doubted if she could have acted that way.

They soon caught up with Sherlock, Lestrade and Donovan joining them, and made their way up stairs to the top of the school and entered the girl's dormitory, which was a large room with old fashioned metal beds around the room, covered with pink blankets, and dark wood flooring. Even the walls were painted the same baby doll pink to match. Amelia's attention went straight to one of the beds that she guessed must be the little girls, since it was the only one that had its blankets mussed and a teddy bear left lying in the sheets. There was no other sign of a struggle, no traces of blood, which was always a welcome relief in cases like this, even the small mat on the floor by the edge of the bed didn't seem to have been moved, which meant that the kidnapper must have struck while the girl was sleeping, or she was simply to afraid to try and fight back.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you," John remarked, looking around the room as Sherlock and Amelia carefully examined the little girl's bed, Amelia checking inside the small cupboard beside the bed while Sherlock got on his hands and knees, peering under the bed. John glanced at Lestrade, remembering what he had told them earlier, "You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?"

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor," Lestrade nodded, watching Sherlock and Amelia as they continued to look around the scene, "Absolutely no sign of a break-in," Sherlock picked up a lacrosse stick that had been left on the floor and stood, experimentally swinging it, as if it was a weapon, before shaking his head and dropping it back on the floor with a loud clatter, "The intruder must have been hidden inside some place," he finished, watching them work.

"Possibly," Amelia muttered, but she didn't elaborate further at the curious looks from the others, her mind already off on another train of thought.

Sherlock and Amelia moved around to the end of the bed where a large wooden chest was sitting, and flipped the lid open to reveal brightly coloured toys, chalk, books, and a rather curious looking brown paper envelope sitting right in the middle of the toy box, completely out of place among the child's toys. Sherlock reached into the box and picked up the package, holding it up closer for them to see a red wax seal on it that had already been broken. He turned it upside down and pulled out a thick, hard cover book and flipped it over to show the front cover with the title written in black lettering, 'Grimm's Fairy Tales'.

Amelia's eyes widened as she took in the cover, "You have got to be kidding me," she said quietly, not wishing for the other's to hear, not yet, at least. Sherlock glanced at her, raising an eyebrow as he quickly flipped through the books pages for anything that might have been stuck into the pages, "My Mum, she used to read James and I the exact same stories when we were little kids," she explained to him, "Hansel and Gretel was always James's favourite story, mine was Cinderella".

"Interesting," Sherlock said just as softly, "There seems to be a lot about this entire case that's taken inspiration from your childhoods. Two siblings, the same school, and now the same fairytale book".

"Interesting and very unsettling," she sighed, suppressing a shiver. What next, would there be another clue that involved the little girl having won several show jumping competitions, just as Amelia had done as a young girl?

Sherlock actually seemed like he wanted to say something for a moment as he looked at her, before he gave her a very small, reassuring smile and lightly touched her hand that was sitting on her knee. She blinked in surprise, before quickly recovering and giving him a grateful look, glad that they seemed to have reached a point in their friendship that Sherlock was starting to become a bit more comfortable being more…well, human around her. Perhaps it was because of what happened when they had been in front of the fire while on the Baskerville case, the two of them having both seen different sides of each other, vulnerable sides, and that, in return, had brought them closer. Amelia certainly hoped so because she much preferred this side of Sherlock to his usual cold, unemotional side that he usually showed.

Sherlock pulled his attention away from her and removed his hand from hers, looking back over to Lestrade, John, and Donovan, who were watching them a little too closely for both his and Amelia's comfort, "Show us where the brother slept," he told them, dropping the book and envelope back inside the box as he stood, shutting the lid.

Amelia was taken aback again as Sherlock offered her his hand, actually taking a moment to help her up so that she wouldn't be in danger of toppling over on her heels as she rose. She caught John's eye as they headed out the door and down the hallway, Lestrade leading the way, and felt the back of her neck warm very slightly as the small twitch of his lips and knowing look. It wasn't unusual for Sherlock to suddenly do something gentlemanly for her like that, such as opening doors or, once, even helping her with her coat, but she supposed that for someone like Sherlock, it probably did seem like a rather surprising thing for him to do. It didn't mean anything, it was just him being nice and John was just reading too much into it.

They walked back through the hallway to the other side of the house were the boy's dormitory was at the end of the corridor. The door had been left open slightly and it creaked as Sherlock lightly pushed it open onto a small room as they moved into the space, Sherlock and Amelia taking it all in. There was only a couple of beds in the room and the walls were painted blue this time, and just as with the little girls bed, only one of the beds had rumpled and mussed sheets still on it with the boy's belongings still around his small corner of the room.

Sherlock moved to stand closer to the boy's bed, holding out a hand towards it, his gaze coming to rest on the frost pane of glass at the top of the door, "The boy sleeps there every night," he began, his voice sounding softer than normal, "Gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor," he pointed over to the doorway, "He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door".

"Okay, so…" Lestrade trailed off, raising his eyebrows at him, not seeing what he was getting at.

"What if someone new approached the door?" Amelia said slowly, eyeing the frosted window thoughtfully, "What if it was someone that he didn't recognise, a complete stranger?"

Sherlock walked over to the door, "Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon," he continued, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door, holding his hand up in the frosted window to make it look as if it was a gun. He pushed the door back open and moved back into the room, frowning thoughtfully, "What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room?" he wondered aloud, walking back over to the bed, his eyes roaming around the space, "How would he use them if not to cry out?" he glanced at the child's possessions and moved around the other side of the bed, nearest to the wall, "This little boy, this particular little boy…"

"Spy novels," Amelia cut in, pointing over to the bookcase that was against the wall beside the boy's bed, its shelves filled with books, "There's several spy novels on there, so he's likely picked up different spy tricks. He's also clever," she continued, taking a closer look at some of the other books on the shelves, "Those books are quite advanced for his age and they would have complicated plots, he would have known that it was pointless to cry for help, so he would have settled for the next best thing," she finished, meeting Sherlock's eyes, having a pretty good idea just what that might be.

Sherlock nodded in agreement as John frowned slightly, considering everything they had deduced, "He'd leave a sign?" he guessed, looking between the two.

Sherlock began sniffing loudly, looking around, when he noticed a cricket bat leaning up against the side of the bookcase. He grabbed it and lifted it up to sniff the bat closely, before pulling back slightly with a small frown and twisting it around in his hands, sniffing it again. He looked back up, putting the bat back down as he continued sniffing, and crouched down by the bedside table, before reaching for something under the bed and pulling out a small, empty glass bottle. Amelia craned her neck slightly to see the label said 'Linseed Oil'.

He looked back over to Lestrade, "Get Anderson," he ordered sternly.

….

Anderson joined them in the room and closed the windows shutters, leaving the room almost pitch-black as Sherlock held an ultraviolet up against the wall over the top of the bed, lighting up the hidden words, 'Help Us,' that had been written in linseed oil across the wall. Amelia winced as she noticed that there was a dragged child's handprint after the 'S' in 'Us,' as if the boy had been forcefully pulled away from the wall.

"Linseed oil," Sherlock commented, eyeing the words before taking a step back from the wall, directing the ultraviolet light onto the floor by the bed.

"Not much use," Anderson said, shrugging, "Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper".

"Brilliant, Anderson," he glanced back up to the man, and quickly refocused his eyes back on the floor, moving further away from the wall, seeming to be following something on the ground.

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot".

Amelia laughed, unable to help herself as Sherlock flashed her a smirk. Anderson seemed less then pleased as he shot her a dark glare, but she simply smiled sweetly back at him, knowing that it would only annoy him even more.

"Amelia," Sherlock's voice caught her attention, making her look back over to see him pointing down at one of the floorboards, "The floor".

She looked down to see several illuminated footprints had been left behind after the kidnapper must have stepped in a puddle of the linseed oil. Some of the footsteps seemed much smaller than the others, and Amelia realised that the boy must have been on his tip-toes as he was forced out of the room.

"He made a trail for us!" John exclaimed in realisation as they began to follow the footprints out the door.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them," Sherlock nodded, pointing down at the smaller prints that had been left behind, jumbled up among the larger footprints of the kidnapper.

He frowned slightly, looking at the smaller prints, "On, what, tiptoe?" he questioned, confused as he glanced back to Amelia and Sherlock, still following the trail out the door and into the blacked out hallway.

"It's a sign of anxiety," Amelia explained, trying to avoid stepping on any of the footprints as she walked, "I would say that the kidnapper would have had a gun held to his head".

"The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways," Sherlock added as they followed the trail, Anderson right behind them with a second ultraviolet light, "He had his left arm cradled about her neck".

They continued down the corridor until the footsteps faded, the linseed oil either having dried on their shoes and feet or, likely, having worn off, "That's the end of it," Anderson said, walking a few steps forward with his light raised up higher to try and see if there was any more footsteps up ahead, but nothing showed up in the light, "We don't know _where_ they went from here," he turned back to face them, throwing Sherlock and Amelia a quick look as they came to a stop at the last, solid footprint, "Tells us nothing after all".

Amelia raised her eyebrows at him as Sherlock nodded slightly, "You're right, Anderson, nothing," he agreed, actually sounding sincere.

"All except his shoe size, his height, his gait, and his walking pace," Amelia cut in with another mocking, sweet smile in Anderson's direction, shrugging, "So, basically, a great deal of valuable information that could very well break the case before tea time".

Sherlock stepped over to the nearest window and pulled the blackout material that had been stuck across it down, tossing it off to the side of the hallway as daylight streamed in through the large, half-moon window. Anderson, looking slightly sour, began to head back down the hallway with Lestrade, leaving the detectives and John to their work as Sherlock crouched on the floor by the still illuminated footprint, reaching inside his pocket to pull a lidded plastic Petri dish and his wallet of tools from his coat pocket, holding them out for Amelia to take. Amelia took them and knelt on the floor, feeling a bit like a surgeon as she unclipped and rolled out the tool kit, somehow managing to balance it in her lap.

John crutched down beside her, eyeing Sherlock as he began chuckling to himself, looking like Christmas had come early, "Having fun?" he asked him, lowering his voice.

"Starting to," Sherlock replied, smiling broadly as Amelia carefully selected a small scapple from the tools, offering it out to him with the handle end, making sure not to accidently cut her fingers on the very sharp blade.

"Maybe don't do the smiling," he advised him, and he paused, glancing back up to him, "Kidnapped children?" he reminded him pointedly.

"Quite right, John," Amelia nodded, unscrewing the lid of the Petri dish as she gave Sherlock a quick look, "By all mean's enjoy the case, just don't forget what's it about and the terror those poor kids must be going through".

Sherlock paused and, after a moment, inclined his head in agreement, before setting to work using the scapple to scrap bits of the dried linseed oil footprint up as John stood and left them to it. Amelia selected a pair of tweezers from the kit and used them to pick up the wood samples, placing them into the Petri dish, all the while very glad that Sherlock wasn't doing this to her floorboards.

…

With their examinations of the school complete, Sherlock, John, and Amelia hailed a cab, driving back to London so that they could take a trip to Bart's Hospital to take a closer look at the wood samples, dearly hoping that something from the kidnapper's shoes had stuck in the oil for them to find.

"But how did he get past the CCTV?" John frowned, sitting in the back seat of the cab, Amelia once again finding herself sitting in the middle of the two boys, "If all the doors were locked…" he trailed off, looking back across to the other two.

"He walked in when they _weren't_ locked," Sherlock told him, pulling his gaze from his window.

"But a _stranger_ can't just walk into a school like that," he argued, shaking his head.

"Of course they can," Amelia cut in, looking over to him, "It's all about having the right timing and distraction, and you'll find that you can walk into any building without being noticed," she shrugged, "Even Baskerville was easy to get into with the right tool, a child's school would be easy to slip inside".

"Exactly," Sherlock nodded, raising his eyebrows at him, "Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot?" he looked back out the window, thoughtful, "He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide".

With that rather unsettling thought, they soon arrived outside Bart's Hospital and pulled to a stop, climbing out as Sherlock, not even bothering to offer to pay for the cab, went striding off into the hospitals front doors. Amelia rolled her eyes, exchanging a look with John as she quickly unzipped her bag and grabbed her matching purse, paying for the cab, since it was her turn. She and John had started taking turns paying for the cabs because of how rare it was for Sherlock to actually wait around long enough to do it himself, much to their exasperation.

As the cab drove off, Amelia and John hurried after Sherlock, soon finding him waiting impatiently for a lift to reach their floor. They slipped inside and Amelia grimaced slightly, grabbing hold of one of the railings on the side of the wall as she felt the lift begin to rise, always having hated the feeling. Sherlock glanced over at her with an amused twitch of his lips and Amelia ignored him, or tried to. Thankfully, Molly's lab was only on the second floor, and the lift soon came to a stop and the doors slid open, allowing them to escape. It wasn't that Amelia was afraid of lifts, she just hated the sensation of them, it was one of the reasons why she refused to ever go on a roller coaster.

Sherlock paused in front of a vending machine that was directly opposite from the lifts doors, "Time for lunch," he remarked, pulling his wallet from his trouser pocket and finding some change.

"I would hardly call a packet of chips lunch, Holmes," Amelia sighed, mildly disappointed as she watched him select a bag of chips, bending down to grab the bag as it dropped down into the slot beneath the glass display.

"We don't have time for a proper lunch, Amelia," he said, rolling his eyes slightly as he tossed her the bag of chips, slipping more coins into the slot and selecting another packet of chips. She fumbled with the bag for a second before managing to get a proper hold of it.

She sighed again, "Chips, the lunch of champions, I suppose," she muttered, realising that her craving for a ham and salad sandwich was unlikely to be fulfilled as she slipped the packet into her handbag for later. Maybe she would get a chance to dash down to the cafeteria and see what sandwich's they had later on? She hoped so.

With Sherlock's idea of lunch sorted out, the three of them set off down the hallway, pushing a set of doors open at the end of the hall, almost running straight into Molly as she seemed to be preparing to leave, her coat on and her bag hanging over her shoulder, "Molly!" Sherlock greeted her brightly.

"Hello, Molly," Amelia smiled at her.

"Oh, hello," Molly blinked, surprised to see the three of them, "I'm just going out…"

Sherlock put a hand on her shoulder, lightly turning her back around to the face the direction she had just come from, "No you're not," he told her at once.

"I've got a lunch date…"

"Oh?" Amelia asked curiously, raising an eyebrow at her friend.

"Cancel it," Sherlock cut across Molly as she went to answer Amelia, lightly putting a hand onto her back to make her keep walking along with them back down the hallway to her darkened lab, "You're having lunch with us," he dropped his hand and reached into his coat pockets, dramatically pulling a bag of chips out for her to see just what was on the menu.

"What?" Molly gaped at him, completely confused by what was going on as she fell into step just behind him and Amelia.

He slipped the chips back into his pockets, "We need your help," he informed her, "One of your boyfriends, we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty!" he smiled slightly back over his shoulder to her, Molly having stopped a couple of steps behind them as they reached the door at the end of the hallway, Sherlock grabbing the handle.

John stared at him, also seeming quite surprised, "Its Moriarty?" he questioned.

"Why is that so surprising?" Amelia said, sighing heavily, "This entire case practically has his name written all over it".

"Er, Jim wasn't even my boyfriend," Molly spoke up suddenly, making all three of them look back to her, "We went out three times. I ended it".

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels," Sherlock began, speaking quickly and quite bluntly, "Broke into the Bake of England, and organised a prison break at Pentonville," Molly's shy smile faded as he continued, "For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly".

Amelia rolled her eyes in exasperation, lightly smacking his arm, "For God's sake, Holmes!" she huffed, giving him a quick glare as he seemed quite surprised. She shook her head and turned back to Molly, giving her a comforting, "Forget about James, he never deserved your time," she said firmly, moving forward and linking her arm with Molly's, who gave her a small, grateful smile in return, "And it's certainly not your fault that he turned out to be a psychopath, James was always good at being charming when he wanted to be".

And with that, the two women strolled through the doors; Sherlock and John holding them open for them, before following close behind them.

…

Sherlock had set up a microscopes as they stood in one of the labourites, John and Amelia standing on the othersider of the lab bench from where Sherlock was preparing to look at the wood samples beneath the scope. The door swung open and Molly staggered in, carrying a heavy stack of books and folders in her arms that was almost completely blocking her face from view. Amelia quickly moved to help her, taking the top half of the pile from her arm load as Molly gave her another grateful look, the two women moved to place the books on another lab bench across the room.

"Oil, John," Sherlock commented, hardly seeming to notice Molly and Amelia's struggle as he glanced across the table to John. Amelia threw him a dark look, resisting the urge to chuck one of the folders at his head, that ought to catch his attention. He unscrewed the Petri dishes lid and used the tweezers to pluck one of the wood samples out, "The oil in the kidnapper's footprint, it'll lead us to Moriarty," he continued.

Amelia stepped back over to them, rubbing her arms as she took a seat on a small stool that had been pushed under the bench, watching curiously as Sherlock grabbed a glass tube with some sort of bubbling substance in it. He dropped the piece of wood into it and watched closely as the liquid reacted at once, the bubbling growing even more violent. After a couple of seconds, the bubbling stopped and the liquid inside turned a greenish-brown colour as he suctioned up some of the liquid, carefully dropping it onto a glass slide.

"Hopefully, the oil will have preserved much of the data," she said, glancing across to John, "Our shoes can tell us about everywhere we have gone, from the type of mud to the dust type, our shoes pick it all up and sometimes, if we're lucky, we can use all of that data to find the person," she turned back to Sherlock, eyeing the liquid, "Just with a few testes we should, hopefully, be able to see just where our kidnapper has been, and go from there".

Sherlock slid the slide under the microscope, while Amelia and John moved away, across to the other side of the room to start taking a closer look at the crime scene photos that Lestrade had sent them, laying them out across the bench before them as they searched for any new clues that they might have missed that morning, leaving Sherlock to his expertise: chemistry.

Several minutes passed by as Sherlock continued to look through the microscope, before he glanced over to see Molly pulling a pair of purple latex gloves on, "I need that analysis," he told her, going straight back to the microscope.

Molly nodded and set to work, squeezing some of the liquid into a glass dish and soaking a piece of Litmus paper in it, turning the paper blue. She moved around to Sherlock's side, "Alkaline," she reported back to him.

"Thank you, Amelia," he muttered, his eyes still fixed to the microscope.

Molly turned away slightly, sighing, "Molly," she corrected, her eyes moving across the room to where Amelia was sitting opposite John at another bench, closely looking at a picture, oblivious.

"Yes," he said in the same distracted tone as Molly walked away. He pulled his gaze from the microscope and quickly made a note of the first component in the liquid that he had been able to find, scribbling down the word, 'Chalk'. He picked up another wood sample and dissolved it into a yellowish liquid with small pieces of what appeared to be grains of dirt floating around in it, holding it up to the light. 'Asphalt,' he determined. He did the same thing for the last three samples, finding traces of brick dust, some sort of vegetation, and lastly, a substance that he couldn't seem to be able to recognise. He slipped the slide under the microscope for a closer look, "I…owe…you…" he mumbled to himself, and looked over to a nearby computer screen, "Glycerol molecule," he sighed heavily and frowned, "What _are_ you?"

Molly glanced at him as he returned his attention back to the microscope lens, typing, "What did you mean, 'I owe you?'" she asked, turning to face him properly as Sherlock looked back up, his gaze coming to rest on where Amelia and John where still going through the photos, Amelia absently eating her chip's, "You said, 'I owe you,'" she told him as he pulled his gaze back to the lens, "You were muttering while you were working".

"Nothing," he shook his head, "Mental note".

Molly looked back to him, "You're a bit like my Dad. He's dead," she cringed as she realised how that sounded, closing her eyes briefly in embarrassment, "No, sorry…"

"Molly, _please_ don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not your area".

Still cringing and growing pinker with embarrassment, she continued on with what she was trying to say, "When he was…dying, he was always cheerful, he was lovely, except when he thought no-one could see," she looked at him carefully, the embarrassment fading, "I saw him once. He looked sad".

"Molly…" he began sternly.

"_You_ look sad…" she cut across him, and glanced across the room to Amelia and John as the two spoke quietly together, "…when you think they can't see you. And Amelia," she added, her eyes resting on Amelia as Sherlock slowly looked up and over to them, "When she thinks no-one's watching, she get's this look on her face," she shook her head, frowning slightly as she tried to think of a way to describe it, "I've never seen her look that way, like she's…terrified and trying to stop herself from crying," she took a breath and looked back to Sherlock as he slowly looked back at her, "Are you both okay?" he went to open his mouth but she interrupted him, "And don't say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you."

"You can see me," he paused, glancing over at Amelia, and just for a second he thought he might have seen what Molly had been talking about, but the expression was gone before he had time to properly see it, "And you can see Amelia".

She smiled slightly, "I don't count".

Sherlock blinked at her, shocked as, for the first time, he properly saw Molly as more than just a useful tool to manipulate and for a second pair of hands for when he occasionally needed help that neither Amelia nor John were able to provide. He had always wondered just how Amelia and she had come to be friends, it had always seemed like such an odd match, but he could see it now. Molly was far more perceptive and clever then she first seemed, and for her to think that she didn't count was stunning.

Molly took another deep breath, "What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you both need, anything at all, you can have _me_," she flinched and looked away again, blushing, "No, I just mean…I mean if there's anything you need…" she stumbled over her words, before she looked away again and shook her head, starting to turn away, "It's fine".

He stood there for a long moment, stoic still, "What….what….what could I…_we_ need from you?" he asked, stumbling over his words even more then she had, quite shaken.

"Nothing," she turned back to him, shrugging, "I dunno. You could probably say 'thank you,' actually," she nodded firmly, still seeming nervous.

He heisted for a second, almost as if he wasn't sure how to say the words, "…thank you," he finally managed to get out, sounding a little unsure. He frowned slightly, a little surprised that he had said it as he looked back to the microscope.

Molly nodded again and began to walk past him, heading towards the door, "I'm just gonna go and get some crisps," she told him as she slipped by, "Do you want anything?" he started to open his mouth when she cut across him, "It's okay, I know you don't," she gave him a quick smile.

"Well, actually, maybe I'll…"

"I know you don't," she shook her head, quickly walking over to the door and swinging it open, disappearing outside as Sherlock was left watching her go, looking thoughtful for a moment before going back to the microscope.

On the other side of the lab, completely unaware of what had just happened, Amelia and John were still looking through the pictures, Amelia glancing up briefly to see Molly's ponytail whip around the edge of the door as it swung closed behind her. John was frowning slightly as he looked at one of the pictures, "Sherlock," he called suddenly.

Sherlock looked over to them, "Hmm?" he hummed in acknowledgment.

"This envelope that was in the trunk," he frowned, moving back across the room to him as Amelia stood from her chair, curious as she walked over to stand opposite Sherlock, "There's another one," he held the picture up for them to see the red wax seal up close, before stepping over to where had left his jacket on a nearby table.

"What?"

"Where did it come from?" Amelia asked, her eyes widening slightly in surprise as she watched him dig through his jacket pockets.

"On our doorstep," John informed them, still searching, "Found it today," he finally found it and pulled out another brown envelope from his pocket, quickly comparing it against the one from the crime scene photo, "Yes, and look at that," he hurried back over to them, handing both the envelope and picture to Amelia first, who instantly spotted the similarities between the two, "Look at that. Exactly the same seal," he smiled slightly.

"Definitely from the same stationary," Amelia agreed, and passed the envelope over the table for Sherlock to see.

Sherlock looked it over quickly and reached inside, pulling out some sort of brown dust from within. He toyed with it slightly, feeling the texture, "Breadcrumbs," he determined.

"Uh-huh," John nodded, frowning, "It was there when I got back".

"Oh…" Amelia breathed, her eyes widening, "Oh, of course".

"What?" he questioned as he and Sherlock both looked at her.

"It's just like the fairytale," she said, her voice growing fast the more excited she got, "This entire case has been inspired by that one story, the story that James loved so much as a kid. A story about two siblings who have been led into the forest by a wicked Father to follow a little trail of breadcrumbs!"

"That's 'Hansel and Gretel,'" John realised, his frown deepening as Sherlock looked away, deep in thought, "What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?"

"The sort that likes to boast," Sherlock remarked, still not looking at them, his eyes distant, "The sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat in our flat and he said these exact words to Amelia and I, 'every fairytale needs a good old-fashioned villain,'" he recalled, sitting the envelope back down on the table and adjusting the microscope, before looking back up again, "The fifth substance: it's part of the tale".

Amelia considered it quickly, "Then it must be…the witch's house," she said hurriedly, clicking her fingers, "It must be".

"Yes!" he nodded to her, his eyes widening in realisation.

"What?" John blinked, confused as he looked between them.

"The glycerol molecule," he said, thinking fast, when it finally came to him, "PGPR!"

"What's that?"

"It's used in making chocolate," he leaped onto his feet, and the three of them dashed out of the lab, Amelia already pulling out her phone from her handbag to call Lestrade.

…

They got a cab to Scotland Yard and hurried up to Lestrade's floor, where he meet them and handed Sherlock a piece of paper as they started off down the hallway to his main officers, the sounds of people talking and phones ringing sounded, "This fax arrived an hour ago," he informed them.

Sherlock took the paper and read it quickly, before passing it back to Amelia to see. It was her brother's hand writing, something she was slightly surprised to see, and he had written in big bold letters: HURRY UP THEY'RE DYING. She suppressed a shiver as she gave the note to John, forcing herself to focus on what Lestrade was saying as they continued further into the large room.

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked, looking between Sherlock and Amelia, hopefully.

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," Sherlock replied, reaching into his pocket and handing him a piece of paper.

He took it and looked down at the hastily scribbled writing, "Chalk," he began to read aloud, still walking, "Asphalt, brick dust, vegetation…what the hell is this?" he frowned, reading the final note that seemed to have been added after someone had crossed out the note above it in a different pen. He recognised Amelia's neat hand writing at once, "Chocolate?"

"Yes, we believe that the kidnapper might have taken the kids to an old sweets factory," Amelia nodded, coming to a stop beside Sherlock and John, "At a guess, I would say that we're looking for a building that hasn't been operational in the past twenty to thirty years".

"We need to narrow that down," Lestrade said quickly, seeming to decide that it was better to just go along with it. He frowned slightly, "A sweet factory with asphalt?"

"No," Sherlock shook his head, thoughtful, "No, no, no. Too general. Need something more specific".

"What about the chalk substance?" Amelia suggested, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Yes, chalk," he nodded to her, "Chalky clay, that's a far thinner band of geology," he turned away from them slightly, his eyes growing distant with thought.

Lestrade frowned deeply as he looked back down at the slip of paper they had given him, his hands on his hips, "Brick dust?" he read aloud again, glancing up and over to Amelia as Donovan walked past him.

"From a building site," Amelia answered, nodding.

"Bricks from the 1950's," Sherlock muttered, still looking lost in thought.

Lestrade sighed tiredly and rubbed his face, "There's thousands of building sites in London".

Sherlock looked slightly exasperated, starting to pace, "I've got people looking," he told them.

"So have I".

"Homeless network, faster than the police," he smiled snidely, "Far more relaxed about taking bribes".

At a nearby desk, Anderson glanced up from where he was writing something and rolled his eyes, just as Sherlock's phone trilled several times, signalling that he had received a number of texts within seconds of each other. Sherlock quickly pulled his phone from out of his pocket and held it up for Lestrade to see, smiling smugly to himself about being right about his homeless network, he checked his massagers, holding the phone up high for him to see the screen clearly. Amelia watched him, desperately hoping that one of his homeless network had found something of use, when, after a few moments, he seemed to stop and focus on something on the screen.

"John, Amelia," he called to them, and spun the phone around for them to both see a picture of a pretty purple flower on the screen. John and Amelia's eyes widened in realisation, nodding, "Rhododendron ponticum," he smiled slightly, "It matches," and he lowered the phone, looking thoughtful for a moment, when his head snapped up again, "Addlestone," he announced.

"Oh, of course!" Amelia exclaimed, as it all fell into place in her mind, too.

Lestrade looked up from where he had been leaning over a young man's shoulder, looking at their computer screen, "What?" he frowned at Sherlock, confused.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park," Sherlock explained quickly, "It matches everything," he turned and began to head towards the door, Amelia and John hurrying behind him.

"Right," Lestrade nodded, looking around at his team, "Come on," he grabbed his coat and started off after the other three, "Come on!" he called behind him as Donovan hesitated.

Donovan sighed and jumped up from her chair, running after her boss.

…

With sirens blearing, several police cars came to a squealing halt outside a disused sweets factory in Addelstone. Sherlock, John, and Amelia threw their doors open and hurried out of the car, running into the old factory along with the rest of the police, all pulling flashlights out of their pockets and shinning them around the darkened, damp space as they went, searching for the children.

"You!" Donovan ordered the officers, setting to work coordinating the search as they burst through the factories doors, moving off into different directions, "Search over there," she shinned her torch off down a hallway, "Look _everywhere_. Okay, spread out, please. _Spread_ out".

Sherlock, Amelia, and John followed after Lestrade as he began to lead them further into the factory, carefully shining their torches around at all the old machinery that had been left behind, Amelia's heels clicking on the concrete.

"Look in there," Lestrade directed a couple of his officers, his voice soft as they continued further into the room, "Quietly._ Quietly_".

Amelia sighed slightly and tried to muffle the sound of her shoes by taking softer steps as they walked, not wishing to accidently startle the children with the sudden noise. They made their way deeper into the factory, when Sherlock suddenly hurried forward, his torchlight lighting up a pile of brightly coloured sweets wrappers scattered across the floor ahead of them, surrounding a small unlit candle that was sitting on a plate. He quickly bent down and touched the burnt wick of the candle as Amelia and John gathered around him, shinning their torches down at it.

He glanced back up to them, "This was alight moments ago," he remarked, his eyes flickering around, "They're still here!" he called out to the others.

"What about these wrappers?" Amelia frowned, crouching down and plucking one of the wrappers off the floor, shinning her torch against it, "He's been feeding them sweets?" she looked back to Sherlock, "Like Hansel and Gretel?"

Sherlock picked up another wrapper, eyeing it carefully for a moment with his own torch before he sniffed it. He tried touching the tip of his tongue against the foil and quickly pulled back with a grimace, realisation crossing his face, "Mercury," he determined.

"What?" Lestrade asked, looking over to them.

"Oh, God," Amelia gasped, her eyes widening in horror as she looked back to the wrapper still held in her fingers, "They painted the paper with Mercury…" John groaned, realising just how much more serious it had become that they find the kids. She swallowed and dropped the wrapper, quickly wiping her hand against her coat as she straightened, "It's poisoning them, mercury is deadly".

"The more stuff they ate…" Sherlock nodded, staring off into space, thoughtful.

"It was killing them," John sighed heavily, shinning his torch around through the pipes and machinery surrounding them.

"But it's not enough to kill them on its own," he said thoughtfully, still not looking back to Amelia and John, "Taken in enough quantities, eventually it_ would _kill them. He didn't need to be there for the execution," he realised, "Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away".

"And the longer they were out here, the more hungry they grew," Amelia commented quietly, horrified by the entire idea, of what her brother had done to two completely innocent and defenceless kids who had nothing to do with any of this. Just when she thought he couldn't do anything worse, he went and provide her wrong, "The more hungry they were, the more they ate and…" she grimaced in disgust, "The faster the mercury killed them".

Sherlock broke into a grin, "Neat".

"Holmes," she said sharply, giving him a cold look as he looked back to her, "Don't," she told him, feeling a flash of anger at his complete disregard for the two kid's lives at stake, "Just _don't_'.

His smile faded, his expression growing more sober as he suddenly felt the urge to apologise, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

"Over here!" Donovan's voice suddenly rang out throughout the room. They all took off running in the direction to find her kneeling beside a terrified, dirty little girl that had chocolate all around her mouth, while a slightly older looking boy was half cradled in the girl's arms, unconscious and in a similar filthy state, "I've got you," she was saying soothingly to the girl, reaching out towards her, "Don't worry…"

Amelia sighed in relief and closed her eyes; just hoping that whatever damaged the mercury had done to them could be reversed.

….

Night had fallen while Sherlock paced outside an office in Scotland Yard, while John sat in a chair a short distance from him, staring off into space. Amelia was sitting in a chair beside him, her legs crossed as her fingers absently tapped on the armrest, her mind off somewhere else. A moment past before a door opened, making them look up as Donovan and Lestrade stepped out.

"Right, then," Donovan began, looking mockingly between Sherlock and Amelia, "The _professionals_ have finished. If the _amateurs_ wanna go in and have their turn…"

Amelia rolled her eyes, only just biting back a retort as she stood, John rising from his chair beside her as they and Sherlock began to move towards the door, but Lestrade raised his hand, stopping them, "Now, remember," he fixed Sherlock with a pointed look, "She's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to…"

"…not be myself," Sherlock finished, and rolled his eyes slightly.

"Yeah," he nodded, "Might be helpful," the corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced at Amelia, "Try keeping him in line, Amelia".

Amelia struggled to hold back a laugh, raising an eyebrow at him, "Surely you realise, Greg, that I have no power over what he does," she cast Sherlock a look, almost smiling at his mildly disgruntled expression, "He ignores half of what I tell him, but I'll try".

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and sighed; reaching up to lower his coat collar that he had sticking up. Amelia dragged her eyes away from him, feeling the back of her neck warm very slightly as she realised that she actually quite liked it when he had his collar sticking up like that, it brought out his cheek bones and made him seem more mysterious, though she would rather live with her brother then ever admit that. She gave herself a sharp mental shake, desperately hoping that he hadn't noticed anything as they began to make their way through into the office that Donovan and Lestrade had just stepped out of. The little girl was sitting at a small table within the room, staring down at her lap while a female liaison office was sitting beside her, rubbing her back comfortingly. The girl had been cleaned up since they had rescued her and been given a clean set of clothing, too.

"Claudette, I…" Sherlock began as they moved further into the room.

The girl lifted her head, but the moment she caught sight of Sherlock she instantly began screaming, looking completely terrified. Amelia's eyes widened, startled.

"No…no…" he tried again, holding up his hands to try and ease her, "I know it's been hard for you…" the girl continued to scream in terror, trying to scramble away from him as she pointed straight at him, "Claudette, listen to me…"

"Out!" Lestrade shouted, grabbing his arm, forcefully pulling him back over towards the door, "_Get out_!"

Stunned and confused, John and Amelia hurried out of the room after Sherlock and Lestrade, the little girl's terrified scream still ringing out behind them.

….

After the incident with Claudette, John, Amelia, and Sherlock found themselves in Lestrade's office, Sherlock standing before a window, looking out onto the darkened street through the Venetian blinds, while John and Amelia stood back, both frowning as the brunet tried very hard to ignore Donovan's thoughtful expression that she had directed across the room towards Sherlock. She really didn't like the way she kept staring at him.

"Makes no sense," John remarked after a moment, his arms crossed across his chest.

"The kid's traumatised," Lestrade replied grimly, "Something about Sherlock reminds her of the kidnapper".

Amelia cast Sherlock's back a quick, concerned look, "Has the girl said anything?" she asked.

"Hasn't uttered another syllable," Donovan informed them, her eyes still resting a little too thoughtfully on Sherlock for Amelia's comfort.

"And the boy?" John questioned, looking to Lestrade.

"No, he's unconscious," Lestrade sighed, "Still in intensive care".

Amelia's concern grew stronger as she noticed Sherlock's shoulders tense very slightly, seeming to be staring out at something. She moved closer to him and followed his gaze through the blinds, only to find that on the building opposite to them, someone had spray painted the letters, 'I' 'O' 'U' in large, bold writing across three of the windows directly facing them, the red paint still running slightly down the glass. She swallowed hard at the sight and automatically reached out to grab his hand, feeling ill as the lights in the building across from them went out, hiding the letters from view, no doubt for one of James men to come along and tidy up all the evidence of it ever having been there at all. Behind them, the others were still talking, not one of them having been able to see what they had due to the angle that the blinds were on.

"Well, don't let it get to you," Lestrade said from behind them, looking over to the pair, "_I _always feel like screaming when you walk into a room!" he lowered his voice slightly, "In fact, so do most people," he looked back to Donovan and John, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Come on," he and John began to leave the room.

Amelia, hardly even hearing Lestrade's little remark, let out a breathe and let go of Sherlock's hand, turning around to follow after them, only to find that Donovan had remained behind, watching them both as Sherlock turned away from the window. They began to move towards the door, trying to ignore her.

"Brilliant work you did, finding those kids from just a footprint," Donovan commented, still eyeing them, a hint of sarcasm in her tone, "It's really amazing".

"Thank you," Sherlock said distractedly, continuing towards the door.

"_Un_believable," she went on pointedly.

Sherlock and Amelia both paused at the doorway, before Amelia turned her head very slightly to glare at her, "No, what's _unbelievable_ is your constant inability to see what's right before your very eyes," she snapped, grabbing Sherlock's hand again, and stormed off out of the room, pulling him along with her.

Together, the two detectives made their way back down stairs and out onto the street, where John was already waiting for them. John cast them both a concerned look, noticing their serious expressions as they walked out onto the curb, holding up his hand, hailing a cab. He turning back to them, "You okay?" he asked as the cab approached.

"Thinking," Sherlock said, only making him frown even more, just as the cab pulled up on the curb before them, "This is _my_ cab. You two get the next one," he told them, moving to open the back door.

"Why?" John blinked at him, Amelia nodding in understanding.

"You might talk," he replied simply, and pulled the door open, climbing inside, slamming the door shut behind him as the cab drove away from the curb.

John stared after him, confused and exasperated, before releasing a heavy sigh. A phone dinged, signalling a message, and Amelia quickly reached into her handbag and fished out her phone, checking the message.

"If that's from Sherlock…" he muttered, shaking his head as he raised his hand, hailing down another cab.

Amelia swallowed and shakily slipped her phone back inside her bag, "Ah, no, it was Molly," she said, adjusting the bag's strap, "She's going on a date and was wondering if I could help her out," she smiled weakly as John eyed her, "I won't be long and, to be honest, I really could use a break from…all of this".

His frown grew deeper as the cab pulled up before them, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just stressed," she assured him, still smiling weakly, "And tired. You take this one," she nodded to the cab, "I won't be long".

"If you're sure…"

"Of course," she cut across him, her smile brightening slightly as she lightly nudged his arm towards the waiting cab, "Go catch up with Sherlock. I'll see you later".

John couldn't help but feel slightly reluctant about leaving her behind, though he couldn't imagine why, something about the way she was looking at him, he supposed. He sighed and grabbed the cab's doorhandle, pulling it open and climbed inside, unable to shake the feeling that there was something very wrong going on with both of his friends.

_**Apologises for how long this has taken to get up. Next chapter is when things will change just a little bit, but you'll have to wait and see how. I hope you liked it, tell me what thought. Please review :)**_


	14. Chapter 14 The Reichenbach Fall, Part 4

_**The Reichenbach Fall, Part 4**_

Sherlock sat in the back of the taxi cab, his hands folded together in his lap as he stared at his knees, lost in thought while all the bright lights of London past by the windows. Halfway into the journey back to Baker Street, a small TV screen that was on the back of the driver's seat before him suddenly switched on, playing an advertisement for some sort of phone order jewellery.

"This is a stunning evening wear set from here at London Taxi Shopping…" a smooth, female voiceover played over the images of a pearl bracelet on a black display.

He frowned at the screen and almost instantly Amelia's face popped into his mind, knowing her love of jewellery and pearls. Not that she would have worn anything from such a place, but still Amelia's smiling face continued to distract him, thought he couldn't imagine why, no doubt simply from seeing something that reminded him of her, like if he was to smell someone on the street wearing her perfume, "Can you turn this off, please?" he said to the driver, needing to focus.

The driver ignored him and the advertisement continued playing, "…as you can see, the set comprises of a beautiful…" the voiceover went on.

He sighed, growing annoyed as he glared at the front of the cab, unable to even see the cabbie due to the screen being in the way, "Can you turn this off…" he began again, raising his voice slightly, but he stopped as the image of the screen was filled with static and briefly, flickered to show the face of a man, as if another channel was trying to break through. He tensed, his eyes widening as he recognised the man as Moriarty, grinning back at him through the screen, standing before a pale blue background with fluffy white clouds painted on it as the static cleared completely.

"Hullo," Moriarty's voice came over the screen, his voice sing-song and light, as if he was talking to a group of children, "Are you ready for the story?" his smile seemed to grow even wider as Sherlock could only stare at the screen, "This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot. Sir Boast-a-lot was the bravest and cleverest knight at the Round Table, but soon…" his voice grew more serious and the sky background behind him began to darken, the clouds growing grey, "…the other knights began to grow tired of his stories about how brave he was and how many dragons he's slain…and soon they began to wonder…" behind him, the rain began to pour from the clouds as he went on, "'Are Sir Boast-a-lot's stories even true?'" he asked, pulling a mock shocked face before he shook his head, almost sadly, "Oh, no," he looked back up the camera, "So one of the knights went to King Arthur and said…" his put on a dramatic whisper, "…'I don't_ believe_ Sir Boast-a-lot's stories. He's just a big old liar who makes things up to make himself look good'. And then even the _King_ began to wonder…" he frowned thoughtfully, pressing his fingers against his mouth as lightning bolts shot out of the clouds behind him, before he shook his head, "But that wasn't the end of Sir Boast-a-lot's problems. No," his eyes moved down for a moment, before moving back up to the camera, "That wasn't the _final _problem," Sherlock bared his teeth at the screen, glaring at it with barely restrained anger as the camera pulled back to show Moriarty sitting on a chair with a book open his hands, his voice growing sing-song once again, "The End".

Behind him, a cartoon of a red curtain dropped down to cover the sky background, just like one would on a theatre stage, before the camera suddenly changed to a very close shot of Morarty's grinning face before the screen was filled with static again, slowly clearing back to the jewellery advert, as if nothing strange had happened.

"Stop the cab!" Sherlock shouted urgently at the driver, just as they rounded a corner, "Stop the cab!" the cab came to a stop along the side of the curb and he quickly grabbed the doorhandle, pulling it open, "What_ was_ that?" he demanded, jumping out onto the footpath, slamming the door as he ran around to the driver's open window, "What was that?" he repeated.

The cabbie, a dark haired man wearing a cloth cap that looked quite similar to the one that the cab driver from his first case with Amelia and John, turned to look at him, revealing himself to be none other than James Moriarty himself, "No charge," he grinned back to him, putting on a London accent.

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock and he frantically tried to grab hold of him, but Moriarty, seeming to have expected the move, simply accelerated away, forcing Sherlock to let go and instead try to give chase after the car as he drove off down the street, but it was moving too fast and he came to a panting stop in the middle of the road, realising that it was hopeless. He glared off after the cab, completely unaware that there was a car speeding straight down the road from behind him, just as the horn sounded and he went to turn around.

"Look out!" a man cried out, and suddenly Sherlock found himself being pulled out of the path of the oncoming car and up onto the pavement.

Not realising what he was doing at first, Sherlock grabbed the man and pushed him back up against a lamppost as the car speed past them, preparing to hit him, but he stopped in time, finally realising just what had happened and slowly released the man, breathing heavily and with his heart racing madly in his chest, "Thank you," he said gratefully to the man, who was watching him warily, and held out his hand to shake his.

The man slowly reached out and took his offered hand, but their hands had barely even touched before three shots rang out from in the distance from somewhere behind Sherlock, hitting the man in the chest as Sherlock ducked out of the way, staring at the man with wide eyes as he slipped down the lamppost and slumped onto the ground, dead. He quickly began to spin around on the spot, looking up towards the high buildings surrounding him for any sign of the shooter, just as another black cab pulled up on the road behind him and John jumped out.

"Sherlock!" John called worriedly, running towards him.

….

Later on, after the police and an ambulance had arrived at the scene to investigate and take the body away, Sherlock stood back slightly, one arm wrapped around his stomach while he twitched his fingers anxiously, watching as the ambulance crew wheeled the man's body over towards the open back of the ambulance, his face still uncovered.

"That…it's him," John breathed, catching sight of the man's face as he was wheeled past him. He looked back to Sherlock, "It's him. Sulejmani or something. Mycroft showed me his file," he explained, shaking his head, casting his eyes around the street, "He's a big Albanian gangster lives two doors down from us".

"He died because I shook his hand," Sherlock remarked thoughtfully.

"What d'you mean?" he frowned at him, confused.

"He saved my life but he couldn't touch my hand. Why?" he turned and began to stroll off down the street, before he paused, glancing back to John, "Where's Amelia?" he asked, narrowing his eyes slightly, "Why wasn't she with you?"

"Molly needed her for something," John told him, shrugging, though he did find it slightly odd that she hadn't replied or turned up after he had text her with the news that Sherlock had been involved in a shooting. It wasn't like her to not run to one of her friend's sides when something like this had happened, "She said she wouldn't be long".

Sherlock nodded very slightly, a strange look crossing his face as he adjusted his coat around himself and continued walking off down the street, forcing John to follow after him.

…

Sherlock and John very quickly got a cab to Baker Street, Sherlock leading the way upstairs as he began pulling off his scarf, "Four assassins living right on our doorstep," he said to John, making his way across the landing and in through the living room door, heading straight over to the laptop sitting on the dining table, pulling his coat off as he continued, "They didn't come here to _kill_ me; they have to keep me _alive_," he tossed his coat and scarf down onto a nearby chair before taking a seat before the open laptop, logging on. John stepped over to the window, peering out carefully; half hoping to see a cab pull up and Amelia step out. She still hadn't replied, "I've got something that all of them want, but if one of them approaches me…" he trailed off, typing something into the keyboard.

"…the others kill them before they can get it," John finished, nodding as he continued to keep watch.

He grunted in agreement, quickly exiting out of his earlier search of St Aldate's School and bringing up the list of local Wi-Fi networks, running his eyes down the list of five that appeared. He checked their strengths and found, unsurprisingly, that they were labelled in a foreign language, including Russian, Czech, Estonian, and Albanian. He did pause very slightly, frowning as he noticed that there was one other network that ought to have appeared, Amelia's, written in her Irish Gaelic , but it was missing from the listing, though he hardly had time to puzzle over that right now, "All of the attention is focused on me," he said to John, lifting his head, looking around the room quickly, "There's a surveillance web closing in on us right now".

He frowned, looking back over his shoulder to Sherlock, "So what have you got that's so important?"

Sherlock didn't answer as he ran a finger along the surface of the table beside the computer, before lifting it back up and looking at his fingertip, "We need to ask about the dusting," he remarked, pushing his chair back and standing, "Mrs Hudson!" he shouted, making John roll his eyes, watching with slight confusion as his flatmate began to move around the living room, examining different bits of furniture for dust. It wasn't long before Mrs Hudson hurried into the room, wrapped up in a night gown over her nightdress, looking as if she had been just about to go to bed, "Precise details," Sherlock said to her, hardly even looking over to her as he moved across to start examining the sliding kitchen door, "In the last week, what's been cleaned?"

"Well, Tuesday I did your lino…" Mrs Hudson began.

"No, in here,_ this_ room," he cut across her quickly, still closely examining the edge of the door, "This is where we'll find it, any break in the dust," he stepped across to where there was a set of shelves in the corner, on the other side of the kitchen door, "You can put back anything but dust," he ran his finger across the shelf and held it up, dramatically twirling his fingers around, as if to prove his point, "Dust is eloquent".

She blinked and glanced over her shoulder to John, "What's he on about?" she asked quietly, confused.

John shook his head and shrugged slightly, not having any idea himself. It was moments like these that he really did wish that Amelia was around, because even though she could be just as bad at explaining things as Sherlock was, at least she had a better understanding of what he was going on about most of the time and could act as a translator.

Sherlock climbed up onto the first shelf of one of the built-in bookcases that were beside the fireplace, trying to look more closely at the top shelf, "Cameras," he muttered, peering carefully between the books and different objects on the shelves, "We're being watched".

"What?" Mrs Hudson exclaimed, her eyes widening, "Cameras?" she cringed, looking horrified at the prospect, "Here? I'm in my nightie!"

The doorbell rang as she scurried out of the room, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her neck as she left, while John sighed and followed after her to get the door. Sherlock continued his search, climbing back down off the bookcase and moving to check the eye sockets of his skull sitting on the mantelpiece, before sitting it back down and stepped up onto a small table beside his chair, balancing as he walked across to examine the second bookcase. He began eyeing the books closely, but paused as he noticed that one of the books moved a bit more easily then it ought to have and pushed it back further into the shelf, revealing a small camera had been stuck to the side of the shelf. He reached forward and removed it, just as the familiar steps of Lestrade, followed by John, came from behind him.

"No, Inspector," he said calmly but firmly, not even looking back to them.

"What?" Lestrade frowned, looking up at him in confusion.

He stepped down from the table and onto the floor, holding the camera in his hand, "The answer's no," he repeated, eyeing the small device. John stared at the camera, shocked and startled to imagine that someone had been spying on them

"But you haven't heard the question!"

He turned around to face them both, "You want to take me to the station," he said, walking closer to Lestrade, "Just saving you the trouble of asking".

Lestrade took a deep breath, shifting slightly on the spot, "Sherlock…"

"The scream?" he interrupted, raising his eyebrows, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," he admitted, nodding with a sigh.

"Who was it?" he said thoughtfully, "Donovan? I bet it was Donovan," Lestrade looked up in surprise, while John looked between them both in confusion, "Am I somehow responsible for the kidnapping?" he continued, shaking his head, "Oh, Moriarty is smart. He planted that doubt in her head; that little nagging sensation," he fixed Lestrade with a steady look, "You're going to have to be strong to resist. You can't kill an idea, can you? Not once it's made a home…" he reached forward and briefly pressed the tip of his index finger against Lestrade's forehead, right between his eyes, "…there," he finished, letting his arm drop back down to his side, and turning away from him.

Lestrade watched him take a seat before the laptop, "Will you come?"

"One photograph, that's his next move," he commented, typing something into the laptop as he spoke, "Moriarty's game: first the scream, then a photograph of me being taken in for questioning. He wants to destroy me, inch by inch," he stopped typing and picked up the camera from beside the computer, looking at it for a moment before turning his attention back over to Lestrade, meeting his eyes, "It is a game, Lestrade," he told him, very seriously, "And not one that I am willing to play," he looked back to the laptop screen and started typing again, "Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan".

Lestrade sighed heavily and exchanged a quick look with John, before he turned and left the room, disappearing down the stairs as John watched him go for a moment. He turned back to see Sherlock linking the camera up to the laptop, bringing up the current, live video feed to show an image of Sherlock peering into the camera onto the screen. John crossed the room to the right-hand window and pushed the curtain aside, looking down to watch as Lestrade and Donovan, who had apparently been waiting downstairs, climbed into a parked car just outside the door. Lestrade glanced up to him briefly before getting into the car and driving off down the street.

Sherlock glanced over to John, "They'll be deciding," he said, still typing as he turned back to the screen.

"Deciding?" John asked, still looking down at the road, wondering where the hell Amelia could have got to and why she wasn't replying to a single text. He was really starting to get worried.

"Whether to come back with a warrant and arrest me".

His head snapped back around to him, startled, "You think?"

"Standard procedure," he shrugged, his voice very calm and causal, not seeming to be the slightest bit concerned about possibly getting arrested.

John looked back out the window, "Should have gone with him," he told him, "People'll think…" he trailed off, not wanting to finish that thought.

"I don't care what other people think".

"You'd care if they thought you were stupid, or wrong".

"No, that would just make _them _stupid and wrong".

John turned away from the window, growing annoyed and slightly angry, "Sherlock, I don't want the world believing you're…" he broke off as Sherlock looked up, meeting his eyes.

Sherlock maintained eye contact with him for a long moment, "That I am what?" he questioned, his voice quiet.

"A fraud," he replied, not looking away from him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair, "You're worried they're right," he stated simply.

"What?"

"You're worried they're right about me".

"No," John shook his head instantly.

"That's why you're so upset," Sherlock argued, ignoring John as he shook his head again, "You can't even entertain the possibility that they might be right. You're afraid that you've been taken in as well".

John turned away from him, facing the window as he shook his head, "No, I'm not," he insisted.

He leaned forward; his eyes fixed on the side of his flatmate's face, "Moriarty is playing with your mind too," he said to him, and suddenly slammed his hand down on the table, furious, "Can't you _see _what's going on?" he shouted.

John looked at him for a long moment, hardly even blinking at his outburst, before he slowly turned back to look out the window, "No, I know you're for real," he muttered.

Sherlock looked back down at the laptop, "A hundred percent?"

He turned back to him, looking completely serious, "Well, nobody could fake being such an annoying dick all the time," he told him quietly. Sherlock looked back up to him and meet his eyes, his mouth twitching very slightly as John returned his attention back down to the street, sighing heavily after a moment, "Amelia's still not back. I'm going to check her flat".

John walked across the room and left the room as Sherlock shrugged, looking back down the computer before him, though he couldn't help feeling an annoyingly niggling sensation in chest at the thought of Amelia, along with a spark of concerned that she hadn't responded. That was very out of character for her, she always replied to a message within five to ten minutes of it having been sent, depending on time and location. Even if it was the middle of the night, she would still respond within that time frame, though he had found that testing the theory resulted in her sending some rather strongly worded and borderline threatening messages back at three AM.

"Sherlock!" John's voice suddenly rang out urgently.

Sherlock pushed his chair back from the table and jumped to his feet, crossing the living room to the landing door in two strides. He made his way across to where the interconnecting door to Amelia's flat was open, only to stop short at the sight before him. The entire flat had been completely cleaned, every scrap of furniture having been removed and even the once light grey walls had been freshly painted white, while a strong stench of bleach and paint fumes still hung in the air. It was almost as if Amelia had never lived there, the entire flat had been stripped of anything and everything that could possibly lead back to her, all except one thing. Sitting upright in the middle of the room on the dark stained floorboards was one single black suede Louboutin high heel.

"Amelia's still not answering," John told him, shaking his head as he emerged from the hallway that lead to the bedrooms and bathrooms, his phone pressed up against his ear, "And now it's saying that her phone's disconnected," he lowered his phone and looked back across to his flatmate, his face tense, "This is Moriarty, isn't it? He's done something to her".

Sherlock met his eyes briefly, but didn't answer. Instead, he walked across to where the high heel was sitting and slowly circled it, before dropping down to kneel by it as he reached into his pocket to retrieve his magnify glass. He hovered over the heel, not touching it as he carefully examined it through the magnify glass. Without a doubt it belonged to Amelia, UK size 6, the suede had been treated with a waterproofing spray, there was tiny scratches just around the tip of the heel from having walked on a pebble driveway, such as the driveway of St. Aldate's School, and inside the shoe itself there was signs that a gel insole had been stuck onto the sole and back of the heel, with a bit of residual glue still stuck to the bottom of the innersole.

"Cinderella," he muttered thoughtfully to himself, raising back to his full height and slipping the magnify glass back inside his pocket, looking down at the shoe.

"What?" John frowned, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space as he came to stand by Sherlock.

"Something Amelia told me. She said that as a child her favourite fairytale was Cinderella. Moriarty's been taking inspiration from their own childhoods".

John sighed heavily, still looking quite tense and worried, "What does that matter?" he asked, and Sherlock gave him a quick look, "Amelia's missing, Moriarty's probably killed her by now…"

"He won't kill her," Sherlock cut across him, sounding completely certain, "Not yet, at least. She's more useful alive to him at this point, he won't kill her until the times just right".

"Then we need to call Lestrade," John said hurriedly, lifting his phone back up and preparing to start looking through his contact lists, "Hell, call Mycroft if he can help finding her…" Sherlock rolled his eyes and snatched the phone out of his hands, "Sherlock…!"

He ignored his shout and attempts to grab the phone back, tucking the device away inside his pocket. He had the height advantage over John, it really wasn't so hard to keep him from grabbing his phone back, "I'm sure Lestrade will be back soon," he remarked lightly, expecting to hear police sirens outside within the next twenty minutes already, "Besides, Amelia's long gone, Moriarty will have been careful not to leave any clues behind. There's no point going after her now".

John's expression darkened with anger, "No point?" he repeated, staring at Sherlock as if he had never seen him before, "She's…this is Amelia we're talking about! We can't just let that psychopath just…" he stopped talking as he breathed hard, looking away from him, unable to finish that thought right now. Amelia and Sherlock were two of his closest and dearest friends, the thought of anything happening to either of them was simply too horrible to think of. After a moment of composing himself, he turned back to see Sherlock watching him, seeming to be completely unconcerned by the fact that Amelia was missing, "How can you be so calm right now?"

"Amelia knew this would happen," Sherlock replied, lifting his shoulders in a small shrug, "She was well aware of the danger and risk she was in, and she had already accepted that she would likely die at the hands of her brother".

"And that makes it all okay, then?" he demanded, glaring furiously at him, "Do you have the faintest clue about human emotions? This is Amelia, you_ care_ about her, I know you do, even if you might not want to admit it. You once threw someone out a window because they hurt Mrs Hudson; you're telling me you're not even going to blink an eye at the possibility of Amelia _dying_?"

"Would caring help save her?" Sherlock sneered, his expression growing cold, "Would feelings protect her?" he scoffed, "Amelia's a grown woman who has been well aware of the danger her brother posed to her for years, and trying to go looking for her now when we don't have the first idea of where she might be right now would be a waste of precious time".

"So we're just going to let her die?" he asked flatly, his fists clenched at his sides, as if he was only just resisting hitting something.

"No, of course not. Amelia is one of the few people on the planet who can actually use her brain and isn't a complete idiot, her death would be a tragedy and waste of rare talent…" John's eyebrows rose in surprise. Had Sherlock actually said something nice about Amelia beneath all the insults to pretty much everyone else on the Earth? In fact, that was possibly one of the nicest things he had ever heard Sherlock say about her before, "To save Amelia, we have to stop Moriarty," Sherlock continued, his expression growing thoughtful.

"That's going to be a bit hard if you end up getting arrested," John sighed, running a hand down his face. How had everything gotten so messy? Amelia was out there somewhere, possibly just waiting to be killed, and they also had to worry about Sherlock getting arrested for crimes that he didn't even commit.

"Just another part of the game," Sherlock said, more to himself then to John. He cast the high heel once last look, his expression growing slightly darker as he looked at it, and for a moment John thought he might actually be getting a glimpse at just how Sherlock felt about Amelia's predicament, but then he turned and the look was gone as he walked back across to the door, disappearing back to their flat.

John hesitated slightly longer, casting his eyes around the stark white room that just felt so wrong without Amelia's things there, but it wasn't just the room, it was the fact that she wasn't there with them, helping to solve the case and stop her brother. She should have been here, right now, with them, but instead she was facing a possible death sentence unless they could stop Moriarty in time. Just how much worse were things going to get?

….

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, his mind racing with thoughts and ideas as John stood in the middle of the living room, his phone, having been returned to him, pressed against his ear as he listened to the other end. After a moment, he lowered it and clicked it off, releasing a long, slow breath as he glanced back over to Sherlock, "So, still got _some_ friends on the Force," he commented, his expression tense, "It's Lestrade. Says they're all coming over here right now, queuing up to slap on the handcuffs, every single officer you ever made feel like a tit, which is a lot of people".

Sherlock hardly seemed to even hear him, staring off across the room towards the kitchen, lost in thought as he pressed the tips of his fingers together beneath his chin, just as Mrs Hudson knocked on the landing door.

"Ooh-ooh!" she called, pushing the door open, catching John's attention. She paused as she entered the room, frowning slightly as she glanced between the two men, still in her nightie and holding a Jiffy bag, "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?" she asked worriedly, noticing how tense John looked and how Sherlock looked like he a was a million miles away. She focused on John, "Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Mark 'Perishable,' I had to sign for it," she held out the Jiffy bag and John took it, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the red wax seal over the flap, just like the others, "Funny name," she continued, oblivious as Sherlock's eyes fixed on the bag, "German, like the fairytales".

John broke the seal as Sherlock rose from the armchair, his eyes still fixed intently on the bag as he walked over towards them, just as the sound of police sirens started blaring loudly outside, growing nearer. John reached into the bag and withdrew a gingerbread man, a very burnt and blackened one at that. He moved it so that Sherlock could get a clear view of it, glancing at him.

"Burnt to a crisp," Sherlock muttered, eyeing it warily as outside the noise of cars pulling up sounded and the sirens stopped.

"What does it mean?" John asked, frowning.

The sound of car doors being slammed sounded, quickly followed by someone pounding on the door knocker and ringing the doorbell.

"Police!" a voice called loudly through the door.

"I'll go," Mrs Hudson said, hurrying out of the room and off down stairs.

A moment past before Mrs Hudson must have reached the door and opened it, "Sherlock…"Donovan's voice came from downstairs.

"Evening, Mrs Hudson," Lestrade's voice followed.

"We need to talk to you!" Donovan called up the stairs, sounding quite smug.

John slipped the gingerbread man back inside the Jiffy bag and put it on the table, moving out onto the landing as footsteps sounded on the stairs.

"Don't barge in like that!" Mrs Hudson said angrily, no doubt due to Donovan pushing her way past her in her hast to see Sherlock arrested.

Sherlock turned away from the landing door as the noise of people making their way up the stairs began to grow louder. He stepped back over to the dining table and grabbed his scarf from off the back of one of the chairs, calmly looping it around his neck.

"Have you got a warrant?" John demanded from outside the living room, apparently blocking the stairs halfway up, "Have you?"

"Leave it, John," Lestrade told him, sounding resigned.

"Really!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed as the sound of footsteps started up again, Lestrade no doubt having pushed John aside, "Manners!"

Sherlock grabbed his coat off the back of the same chair and pulled it on, adjusting the collar over the top of his scarf, just as Lestrade and Donovan entered the room, quickly followed by two armed police officers, John, and an upset looking Mrs Hudson. Sherlock calmly held his arms out as Lestrade moved to stand before him, one of the two officers stepping behind Sherlock to attach the handcuffs onto his wrists.

"Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade began grimly, looking as if he would rather be doing anything else in that very moment then arresting Sherlock, "I'm arresting you on suspicion of abducting and kidnapping".

John stood slightly off to the side and shook his head, holding out a hand towards Sherlock, "He's not resisting," he frowned deeply at Lestrade, while one of the officers roughly forced Sherlock's arm behind his back to attach the second cuff.

"It's all right, John," Sherlock said, glancing over his shoulder to him, still strangely calm about the whole thing. And why wouldn't he be? He should have guessed that Moriarty would try to set him up like this, he should have known, but he could still find a way out of this, all he needed was the right moment. It would be inconvenient, but not impossible, especially when dealing with the likes of Scotland Yard. He would just have to be fast, timing would be everything when it came to getting out of this, and perhaps with a nice distraction to add to the mix as well. Still, with every second that ticked by while he was being arrested, it was yet another second gone in finding a way to bring down Moriarty and save Amelia, that was if his gamble about her still being alive was true, of course, but such thoughts would only lead to further distraction and he couldn't risk that, not if there was slightest possibility that she really was still alive right now, as he strongly suspected she was.

John was right, though he did loath to have to admit it; somehow he had wound up actually caring for Amelia. He had always strived to live his life based entirely on logic and reasoning, living by the code that his brother had always been so fond to remind him, 'caring isn't an advantage'. He still believed that, after all, if he allowed himself to get distracted and carried away with emotions and 'what if's' when it came to Amelia's current predicament, he would likely have found himself in a similar state as John had been, and what use would that have been? He would do whatever he could to insure that Amelia was safe, not just because of what a waste it would be for a talent and mind like hers to die would be, but because, shockingly, she had become one of the few people he would consider to be a friend.

They bickered, of course, and there were times when he found her to be possibly the most irritating woman on the planet and he suspected she would say the same about him, but she was also intelligent, she saw the world in many ways similar to him, which was a rarity that he had never found in anyone else before. Somewhere along the way, they had managed to develop a friendship, one that was surprisingly based on a unique understanding for how each other's minds worked and mutual respect, which was why he had to believe that Amelia was safe and well still, wherever she might be, because right now thinking about the alternative would simply lead to emotional distraction that wouldn't help anyone, least of all her.

"He's not resisting," John said again, growing angry and even more upset, "No, it's _not_ all right. This is ridiculous," he shook his head.

Lestrade sighed and look past Sherlock to the officer that had just finished handcuffing him, purposely avoiding meeting Sherlock's gaze, "Get him downstairs now," he ordered him.

The officer nodded and grabbed Sherlock's arm, spinning him around and marching him out of the room, passing Mrs Hudson as she stood by the kitchen door, looking close to tears as she clutched her hands together up to her mouth, watching as Sherlock disappeared out the door.

John turned back on Lestrade, "You know you don't have to do…"

"Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too," Lestrade warned him, pointing a stern finger at him. He gave him one last look before turning and leaving the room, taking the second armed police officer with him.

John watched him go for a moment before turning his attention to where Donovan was standing by the landing door, a smug little smirk on her face, "You done?" he asked sarcastically.

"Oh, I said it," Donovan said smugly, stepping closer to him, looking like Christmas had come early.

"Mmm-hmm?" he hummed, only just managing to restrain himself from shouting. First everything with Amelia and now Sherlock had been arrested for the most trumped up charges he had ever heard of.

"First time we meet," she went on.

"Don't bother," he said shortly, shaking his head at her.

"'Solving crimes won't be enough. One day he'll cross the line'. Now, ask yourself, what sort of man would kidnap those kids_ just_ so he can impress us all by finding them?"

Mrs Hudson gasped, shocked and horrified by the implication that Sherlock could possibly do such a thing, when a middle aged man in a grey suit and large glasses stepped up into the doorway.

"Donovan," the man said, moving further into the room.

Donovan instantly turned around to face the newcomer, "Sir," she nodded to him, suddenly respectful.

"Got our man?" he remarked, casting his eyes around the living room with a slight grimace. Clearly, he didn't think much of the yellow spray-painted smiley face on the bullet riddle wall or the skull sitting on the dusty, messy mantelpiece.

"Er, yes, sir".

"What about the other one?" he raised his eyebrows, glancing back to her, "This…Amelia Wilson? I'd like to have a little chat."

"Um…" Donovan looked across to John, the man shifting his focus from her to him, instead.

John raised his chin, not about to tell them the truth. Amelia wouldn't have wanted them to know, he knew that without a second thought. She would hate to give Donovan any sort of leverage over her, she was too proud and besides, like Sherlock had said, what could the police possibly do if they actually believed that Sherlock had kidnapped those two kids just because of a scream, "She's out," he said, not completely lying, "I haven't seen her since we left Scotland Yard earlier to see a friend".

The man didn't seem very impressed by his response, "Off gallivanting around London, is she?" he scoffed, and John had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something. He was making it sound as if Amelia was just some silly, unfeeling rich woman who just didn't care and was just investigating crimes as a little hobby, when he knew nothing about her, let alone just what was really going on. The man sniffed and looked around the room once more, "Looked a bit of a _weirdo_, if you ask me," he commented, referring to Sherlock as John felt his anger bubbling up inside him. It was bad enough he had just completely misjudged Amelia and made such a wrong implication about her character, but now he was going to start on _Sherlock_? This was just starting to go too far, "Often are, these vigilante types," he continued, turning to find John staring at him, "What are _you_ looking at?"

Donovan's eyes widened in alarm, catching sight of the dangerous look on John's face, his eyes fixed on the other man. She lowered her head, knowing what was about to happen as John began to lean back, his fist clench…

…

Sherlock was leaning against the side of a police car, his back facing Baker Street while uniformed police stood scattered around the rest of the street, blocking people from getting a closer look at what was going on. So far, the press had yet to arrive, but he didn't doubt that word would get out very soon and that they would turn up in time to see him being put into the back of the police car.

"Are you all right, sir?" a male police officer asked someone behind him, and Sherlock turned his head slightly to see a middle aged man step out of the front door of Baker Street, his head tilted back as he clutched a bloody white handkerchief to his bleeding nose. The Chief Superintendant, judging by the man's expensive and yet rather modest suit, and the way that the officer had spoken to him.

Suddenly, John was slammed up against the police car beside Sherlock by another two officers, one of them holding him in place while the other officer slipped Sherlock's left wrist out of his cuff and attached it to John's right wrist, linking them together.

"Joining me?" Sherlock said, looking across to his flatmate in amusement.

"Yeah," John winced slightly as the cuff around his wrist was tightened, sounding breathless, "Apparently it's against the law to chin the Chief Superintendant".

He smirked slightly, but his mind was already off thinking of an escape plan, which was slightly complicated now that he had John attached to him, but perhaps it would actually work more in his favour…, "Hmm," he hummed, glancing over his shoulder to observe what the police around them were doing, "Bit awkward, this".

"No one to bail us," John remarked, his mind going back to Amelia, feeling his worry growing even more now that they had both been arrested. If she wasn't already dead, she would surely kill them once she found out what had happened.

"I was thinking more about our imminent and daring escape," he replied casually, keeping his voice low. He looked down and in through the open window of the police car, spotting that someone had left a radio lying on the dashboard of the car console beside an earpiece. The radio squealed slightly as the dispatcher spoke over it.

John blinked, looking back over to him, "What?" he frowned, certain he had misheard him.

He didn't waste time explaining; instead he reached in through the car window and grabbed the radio, pressing the 'talk' button on the side of it. All around them, police officers groaned and grabbed at their earpieces, almost doubled over in pain as a high-pitched squeal of feedback went over the earpieces. With his free hand, Sherlock took the chance to reach behind him to one of the doubled-over offices and grabbed his gun out of his holster. He straightened back up and aimed it at the officer, leaving John gasping in shock, his eyes widening at just how fast everything had just happened.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Sherlock called out, pointing the gun around at the offices as they began to recover from the feedback. He carefully began to move backwards from the scene, pulling John along with him, "Will you all please get on your knees?" the police stared at him, to stunned by what had just happened to do anything. He raised the gun into the air and fired off two shots, which echoed throughout the street, causing many of the officers to flinch, "_Now _would be good!" he shouted, aiming the gun back at them.

Lestrade sighed and raised his arms above his head, "Do as he says!" he told them, gesturing to everyone to kneel, doing just that himself as Donovan slowly did the same beside him. The rest of the officers slowly followed suit, all still seeming to be rather shocked.

"Just…just so you're aware," John began, raising his voice to be heard as they backed away towards the street corner, Sherlock still with the gun trained on the police, "The gun is his idea. I'm just a…you know…"

Sherlock swapped the gun over to his other hand, aiming it instead at John's head, "…my hostage!" he finished loudly, his expression deadly serious as they continued to back away.

John's eyes widened, gasping, "Hostage!" he hissed to Sherlock, "Yes, that works…_that _works!" they continued backing away to the very edge of the corner, the police still kneeling and making no move to stop them, despite the fact that they had their own guns that could easily overpower them. Amelia would have found that amusing. He glanced quickly at Sherlock, "So what now?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Sherlock looked over the top of his head and down the next street, mentally calculating the best route to take in order to outrun the police, "Doing what Moriarty wants," he muttered, still backing away, "I'm becoming a fugitive. Run," he turned and took off down the next street, yanking John along with him as they bolted down the street, running side by side. He looped the chain of the handcuffs around his wrist, "Take my hand".

John grabbed his hand, not slowing in the slightest as sirens blared all around them, "Now people will definitely talk!" he commented as they neared a junction in the road up ahead, the noise of the sirens growing louder. Sherlock suddenly swerved sharply, pushing him off to the left of the road to where an entrance way to a alley was, dropping the gun in the process, "The gun!" he cried, trying to pull Sherlock back to grab it.

"Leave it!" Sherlock shouted, pushing him into the alley and dragging him down the dark, narrow space between two brick buildings, dodging two large bins.

Sherlock didn't even pause when they reached a high mental fence blocking the alley, instead he easily leaped up onto the bin that was pushed up against the fence and vaulted himself over the top of the railings, forcing poor John to be pushed up against the railing, stuck on the other side with his cuffed wrist hanging high over his head so that he was almost forced to stand on tip-toe, his short height making it impossible for him to even attempt to try leaping onto the bin like Sherlock had.

"Sherlock, wait!" John said urgently as his flatmate landed on the other side. He reached through the bars and grabbed the front of Sherlock's coat, pulling him back to the railing, trying hard to keep himself calm, "We're going to need to coordinate," he told him, his voice stern.

Sherlock looked slightly irritated. At least Amelia would have been tall and agile enough to make the fence; the only issue would have been her no doubt unsuitable choice in clothing. He sighed and quickly glanced up to where their wrists were still stuck at the top of the railings, thinking fast, "Go to your right," he instructed him.

"Huh?"

"Go to your right," he repeated, standing on tip-toe himself and lifting his cuffed wrist up, trying to get the chain over the fences spike.

It took a fair bit of moving and adjusting, but finally they managed to get John over the fence. John had barely straightened before they were off again, running down the other side of the alley, coming to a T-junction. Sherlock went to lead the way off down the right side, but quickly ducked back out of sight once more as a police car came racing past the end of the alley, its lights and sirens going off. Together, they paused, panting as they leaned their backs up against the brick wall of the alley, waiting for it to pass as they tried catching their breath.

"Everybody _wants _to believe it, that's what makes it so clever," Sherlock said hurriedly, looking back across to John, "A lie that's preferable to the truth," he looked away, his voice taking on a bitter tone, "All my brilliant deductions were just a sham. No one feels inadequate; Sherlock Holmes is just an ordinary man".

"What about Mycroft?" John suggested, still sounding slightly breathless, "He could help us".

Sherlock suddenly yanked him across to the other side of the alley, causing John to grunt in discomfort as he was pulled around while Sherlock carefully peered around the edge of the corner and down the left side of the T-junction, "A big family reconciliation?" he said sarcastically, "Now's really not the moment," he spun around, half swinging John around with him as he looked back down the way that they had come, checking to make sure that they weren't being tracked.

John stumbled slightly before he managed to right himself, but as he looked back up, something at the end of the right side of the alley caught his eye, "Sher…sherlock," he hissed, elbowing his flatmates side to get his attention, nodding over to where a man was peering around the corner up ahead of them, watching, "We're being followed," he told him, sighing, "I _knew_ we couldn't outrun the police".

"That's not that police," he shook his head, eyeing the man, speaking fast, "It's one of my new neighbours from Baker Street. Let's see if he can give us some answers".

He took off running down the opposite side of the alley from where the man was still watching them, pulling John along with him as they made it to another corner, flattening themselves against the wall as Sherlock ducked his head around the edge of the wall and looked out onto the street. There wasn't any flashing red and blue lights, no police cars or officers roaming around this street quite yet, but a red double decker bus was driving down the road, nearing the alleyway that they were hidden in. He pressed himself back against the wall, his mind racing.

"Where are we going?" John asked, whispering.

He glanced back around to watch the bus, "We're going to jump in front of that bus," he replied calmly.

"What?" he exclaimed, his eyes widening.

Sherlock simply took off running, dragging him along as they dashed across the street and out into the middle of the road, coming to a stop right in the path of the approaching bus. They waited, for what John didn't know, the headlights of the bus half blinding them, when someone suddenly came running towards them and shoved them off to the side of the road, just before the bus could hit them. They hit the ground, hard, but Sherlock didn't even blink as he sat back up and grabbed a gun that was sticking out of the man's trousers, aiming it straight at the man's face, his finger on the trigger.

"Tell me what you want from me," he ordered, his expression deadly serious. The man's eyes widened, shocked as he stared down the barrel of his own weapon, not saying a word. He moved the gun closer to him, glaring, "_Tell_ me!" he demanded angrily.

"He left it at your flat," the man told him, his eyes flickering back and forth between the gun and Sherlock's face.

"Who?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes.

"Moriarty".

"What?" Sherlock frowned, standing and pulling John up with him, forcing the man to also rise with the gun still aimed at his head.

"The computer keycode," the man answered.

"Of course. He's selling it, the programme he used to break into the Tower. He planted it when he came around…"

Suddenly, three gunshots rang out from one of the building's surrounding them, and the man dropped onto the pavement, dead. Sherlock and John jumped, looking up around to the buildings around them, trying to work out where the shooter was, but it was impossible to locate and the sound of police sirens started up again in the distance. Sherlock and John took off running again down the street, ducking into a doorway, just as a police car with its lights flashing drove past the end of the road.

"It's a game changer," Sherlock remarked after a moment, panting slightly, "It's a key, it can break into_ any_ system and it's sitting in our flat right now. That's why he left that message telling everyone where to come. 'Get Sherlock,'" he ducked his head back around the edge of the doorway, checking, "We need to get back into the flat and search".

"CID'll be camped out," John said, glancing around the other side of the doorway, "Why plant it on you?" he frowned, looking back to him.

"It's another subtle way of smearing my name. Now I'm best pals with all those criminals".

A stack of newspapers sitting just outside of the doorway caught John's eye. He frowned and moved forward, picking up one of them, "Yeah, well, have you seen this?" he held the paper between him and Sherlock. It was an edition of the Sun with a small headline at the bottom of the front page advertising an upcoming expose by Kitty Riley, called 'Sherlock: The Shocking Truth'. He glanced at Sherlock, "A kiss and tell. Two siblings, Rich and Rachael Brook," Sherlock's looked away, realisation crossing his face, but John didn't notice, "Who are they?"

….

It was almost laughably easy for Sherlock to figure out where Kitty Riley lived, in fact the hardest part about the whole thing had been getting to the row house that had been turned in flats was having to go through the back roads and alleyways. They easily made their way into the house and found a spare key hidden, typically, beneath a mat by her front door.

They didn't have to wait very long, barely having enough time to properly start getting comfortable in her darkened living room as they sat on her sofa, before the noise of a car door sounded from outside. Heeled footsteps reached them through the bay window before the front door opened and closed, but the footsteps paused as they came to the door of the flat, which they had left slightly open. Cautiously, the door was pushed open and the lights were switched on, lighting up the living room and Sherlock and John sitting on the sofa, still handcuffed together. Kitty Riley's eyes widened.

"Too late to go on the record?" Sherlock asked lightly, not even looking at her.

Kitty simply stared at them, shocked, but her shock didn't last very long before she stepped fully into her flat and shut the door behind her, dropping her handbag as she moved to take a seat in an armchair across from the sofa. She watched, not saying a word, as Sherlock and John stood and began using a Bobby pin that they had found on her vanity to free themselves from their cuffs.

"Congratulations," Sherlock said sarcastically as he worked on the handcuff around his wrist, "The truth about Sherlock Holmes," he twisted the hairpin and the cuffs popped open, allowing him to finally pull his left hand free and start to pace in front of Kitty's chair, leaving John to work on freeing his own wrist, "The scoop that everybody wanted you got it," he looked back across to her, "Bravo!"

"I gave you your opportunity," Kitty said calmly, seeming to be completely unfazed, "I wanted to be on _your _side, remember? You turned me down, so…" she actually looked slightly sorry, though for what, was anyone's guess.

"And then, behold, someone turns up and spills all the beans. How _utterly _convenient. Who is Richard and Rachel Brook?" Kitty looked briefly down and shook her head, making his expression darken, "Oh, come on, Kitty. No one trusts the voice at the end of a telephone. There are all those furtive little meetings in cafes, those sessions in the hotel room where they gabbled into your dictaphone. How do you know that you can trust him? A man and woman turn up with the Holy Grail in their pockets," his voice grew sterner, glaring at her, "What were their credentials?"

There was a meal clicking noise outside, like the front door was being open and closed. Kitty, who had been looking almost close to actually talking, looked quickly over towards her flat door and stood, a flash of concern crossing her face when someone pushed the door open. Sherlock and John both turned to look, their eyes widening in shock to find none other than James Moriarty stepping in through the door carrying plastic shopping bags in his hands. There was no expensive Westwood suit this time; instead he was wearing a shabby shirt and maroon cardigan, appearing not to have shaven for at least two days and with his hair mussed. He looked like he might have just rolled out of bed and thrown on whatever clothing he could find, a far cry from the usually clean polished appearance that Moriarty typically displayed.

"Darling," Moriarty called, not having looked up yet to see just who else was in the room, "They didn't have any ground coffee so I just got normal…" he finally looked up to find John and Sherlock staring back at him, and dropped the shopping bags in his hands. He took a step back until he hit the wall behind him, looking completely terrified as he held out his hands protectively in front of him, "You said they wouldn't find me here," he said, almost frantically, his voice trembling as he glanced over at Kitty, but his eyes quickly flew back to Sherlock, "You said I'd be safe here".

"You are_ safe_, Richard," Kitty assured him, her tone calm and firm, "I'm a witness. He wouldn't harm you in front of witnesses".

John, still completely shocked, pointed at Moriarty, "So_ that's_ your source?" he asked, anger starting to seep into his voice, "Moriarty is Richard Brook?"

"Of _course_ he's Richard Brook," Kitty told him, rolling her eyes, as if to think otherwise was completely absurd, "There_ is_ no Moriarty. There _never_ has been".

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, shaking his head. Sherlock was still staring at Moriarty, his eyes wide, for the first time actually seeming to be speechless.

"Look him up, look his sister up. Rich and Rachel Brook, actors that Sherlock Holmes hired to be Moriarty and Amelia Wilson…"

"Amelia?" he frowned, growing angry again as he looked back at her, unable to believe what he was actually being told, "What the hell are you talking about? An actress…"

Moriarty nodded, still pressed up against the wall with his hands held up before him, "Doctor Watson," he began, his voice still shaking nervously as he turned to look at John, "I know you're a good man," he flinched as John glared furiously at him, "Don't…don't h…don't hurt me".

"No, you are Moriarty!" John shouted, his voice full of rage, so much so that his entire body was shaking with it as he pointed at Moriarty as he coward against the wall. He briefly glanced back to Kitty, "He's Moriarty!" he turned back to the other man, still shouting, "We_ met_, remember? You were gonna blow me up!"

"I'm sorry," he breathed, sounding close to tears as he covered his face with his hands, "I'm sorry," he lowered his hands from his face and gestured over to Sherlock, "He paid us. We needed the work, Rachel and I. We're actors. We were out of work. I'm sorry, okay?"

"No!" he snapped, his voice still raised at he pointed at him again, "You kidnapped Amelia! You're holding her hostage somewhere…!"

Moriarty's eyes widened, actually looking horrified by the mere suggestion that he could actually do such a thing to his sister, "Ask him!" he cried, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gestured back over to Sherlock, the perfect image of a grief stricken brother, "He knows what he did!" he spun around to face Sherlock, who looked like he had been turned to stone, "She did everything you said, played her role perfectly, and the moment things start falling apart you get rid of her! But I know what you did to my sister!"

John, breathing heavily as he struggled to try and regain some control over his temper, looked back over to Sherlock, trying to shut out Moriarty's shouting, "Sherlock, you'd better…explain…because I'm not getting this," he shook his head, unable to believe that Moriarty was actually trying to make it sound like _Sherlock_ had done something to Amelia, that he was responsible.

"Oh, I'll…I'll be doing the explaining, in print," Kitty cut in, smirking. She grabbed her handbag and withdrew a folder, "It's all here…" she handed it to John, who quickly flipped it open, "Conclusive proof," John stared down at the mock-up for her upcoming article, the text already written out, with a space left at the top of the page for a picture. She turned back to Sherlock, "You invented James Moriarty and Amelia Wilson, your nemesis and would-be love interest".

"Invented them?" John's head snapped back up to stare at her, shaking his head again, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. He was supposed to believe that Sherlock had made this whole thing up, that Moriarty was a made up bad guy and Amelia was meant to be some sort of love-interest, like something out of a movie. It was just so absurd, he had_ lived_ with Sherlock and Amelia, he _knew _them.

"Mmm-hmm," Kitty hummed in agreement, "Invented all the crimes, actually, and to cap it all…" she turned back to Sherlock, "You made up a master villain and your own romance story line".

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

Kitty glanced back at John, before pointing over to Moriarty, "_Ask_ him! He's right here! Just ask him," she insisted, "Tell him, Richard!"

"Look, for God's sake, this man was on _trial_!" John burst out, furious.

"Yes…" she nodded, and pointed back across to Sherlock, "And you paid him, paid him to take the rap. Promised you'd rig the jury," Sherlock simply stared back at her, not saying a single word, "Not exactly a West End role, but I bet the money was good," she continued, walking over to Moriarty and wrapping an comforting arm around his shoulders, his arms still raised in front of him. She sent Sherlock a look, "But not so good that he didn't want to sell his story, and Rachel was easy to convince once Richard had got on board".

Moriarty looked back to John, pressing his hands together, "I am sorry," he told him pleadingly, "I _am_. I _am_ sorry".

"So…so this is the story that you're gonna publish," John scoffed, pointing at Moriarty, "The big conclusion of it all: Moriarty and Amelia are actors?" he shook his head in disbelief. It would take a hell of a lot more to ever believe that Amelia could possibly be an actress. For God's sake, he had seen her almost every day for the past eighteen months; they pretty much ate every meal together.

"He knows we are," Moriarty tried desperately, looking upset, "I have proof. I have proof. Show him, Kitty!" he turned to her, "Show him something!"

"Yeah, _show_ me something".

John watched as Kitty hurried back across the room to her handbag, rummaging around inside it. Behind them, Moriarty put his hands over his face and turned towards Sherlock, who still hadn't taken his eyes off him. He lowered his hands slightly to look directly at him, a triumphant smirk crossing his face as he stared back at Sherlock, revealing his true character just for a second. Sherlock's mouth lifted up very slightly, but he didn't look the slightest bit amused as he continued to watch Moriarty. Kitty stood from her bag with another folder in her hand and walked back over to John, passing it to him.

Moriarty instantly slipped back into his fake persona as John looked down at the folder, "I'm on TV," he said to John as he turned back to face him, his voice sounding very panicked once more, almost frantic, "I'm on kids TV. I'm the Storyteller".

John looked down at a list of Richard Brook's contact details from some talent agency, along with another list that had Amelia's picture and details on it, her face smiling back at the camera as she leaned casually up against a brick wall. There was another slip of paper in the folder, a newspaper clipping with a picture of Moriarty wearing hospital scrubs and with the headline, 'Award Winning Actor Joins the Cast of Top Medical Drama'. Everything looked so convincing, so real, but John knew it wasn't, that it couldn't possibly be. That picture of Amelia could have easily have come from anywhere, it could have been in her own flat, for all he knew.

"I'm…I'm 'the Storyteller,'" Moriarty tried again, "It's on DVD," he looked back across to Sherlock, not dropping the façade this time.

John flicked through more pictures of Amelia and Moriarty, together this time, sitting on a sofa somewhere with their arms over each other's shoulders, looking like two close siblings taking a small family picture together. There was even a picture of the two of them dressed like two police officers, standing back to back with their prop guns raised in front of them, smiling back across to the camera. Once again, everything looked so convincing, but John refused to believe it. Pictures could be photoshopped.

Moriarty gestured towards John, "Just tell him," he said pleadingly to Sherlock, "It's all coming out now. It's all over," his voice began to grow frantic, "Just tell them. Just tell them. Tell him! It's all over now…" Sherlock advanced on him, his teeth bared, looking furious, "No!" he suddenly shouted, terrified as he jumped back and fell onto a small set of steps that lead up to the bedroom, which was on a slightly higher level of the flat. He held his hand out in front of him, staring back at Sherlock with wide eyes, "Don't you touch me! Don't you lay a finger on me like my sister!"

"Stop it," Sherlock snapped, furious as he glared back at the man, his temper finally reaching its boiling point at the mention of him causing harm to Amelia, "_Stop _it NOW!"

He scrambled onto his feet and took off running up the stairs, "Don't hurt me!" he cried as he ran.

"Don't let him get away!" John called as he and Sherlock took off up the stairs after him.

"Leave him alone!" Kitty yelled after them, coming to stand at the bottom of the stairs.

Moriarty dashed across the bedroom and over to a door, throwing himself into the next room and slamming the door closed behind him. Sherlock reached the door just as it closed on his face and began trying to use his shoulder to shove it open, forcing it open, only to find that the small bathroom behind the door was empty and that a window had been left open, Moriarty nowhere in sight. Sherlock dashed across to look outside the window, before shaking his head, turning away.

"No, no, no," he past John as he moved to look out the window, too, moving back into the bedroom, "He'll have backup".

Sherlock quickly made his way back across to the stairs, but Kitty stepped into his way, purposely backing down each step a slowly as she could, "D'you know what, Sherlock Holmes?" she smirked up into his face, smug, "I look at you and I can _read _you," she stepped forward, right up into his face as Sherlock stared back at her, "And you…repel…me".

Sherlock moved past her and walked out the door, while John pushed past Kitty, still holding the folder as he followed after his flatmate, stepping out into the middle of the street as Sherlock began pacing rapidly in the middle of the road.

"Can he do that?" John questioned, casting a quick glance around the street to make sure that there wasn't any police hanging around to catch them, "Completely change his and Amelia's identities, make you the criminal?"

"He's got my whole life story," Sherlock muttered, still pacing, agitated, "That's what you do when you sell a big lie, you wrap it up in the truth to make it more palatable".

"What about Amelia?" he frowned, glancing back down at the folder, the picture of Amelia leaning against the wall with a smile on her face. Out of all the pictures in the folder he was holding, that felt the most real to him right now.

"She's just a pawn. He's using her to make the story more believable, make it bigger and more dramatic. Him making it out that I harmed her in any way helps to sell the story even more, it makes it seem like I was desperate to try and keep the façade going, so much so that I would actually hurt Amelia".

John sighed heavily, "Your word against his".

"He's been sowing doubt into people's minds for the last twenty-four hours. There's only two more things that he need to complete his lie, and that's to…" he stopped dead, realisation crossing his face.

John looked up from the folder he had been still looking at, frowning at his friends back, unable to see his expression, "Sherlock?" he asked, concerned.

Sherlock stared off down the street, "Something I need to do".

"What? Can I help?"

"No," he said at once, "On my own".

And with that, he walked off, leaving John to sigh and watch him go, resigned.

….

Sherlock stood in the shadows of a laboratory at Bart's Hospital, the only light coming from the window facing out onto the brightly lit hallway outside, his mind racing as he waited for Molly's shift to end. It didn't take long before the lights in the next room switched off and the door opened, Molly emerging from the room, sighing tiredly as she began to head for the door. She had just crossed the lab and grabbed the doorhandle, when Sherlock decided it was time to make his presence known. Amelia would have made a remark about him being dramatic, standing in the dark while he waited. Strangely, that thought almost made the corner of his mouth lift.

"You're wrong, you know," he said lightly, his voice carrying easily through the silent room. Molly gasped, startled, and whirled back around to face him, "You _do_ count," he continued, his face turned away from her, "You've _always_ counted and I've always trusted you," finally, he turned his head to look over to her, "But you were right. I'm not okay, and nor is Amelia".

Molly stared at him, worry crossing her face as she shifted slightly, "Tell me what's wrong," she told him.

Slowly, he began to walk towards her, his expression deadly serious, "Molly, I think I'm going to die".

"What do you need?" she asked again, almost at once, her expression not changing.

"If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that_ I_ think I am, would you still want to help me?"

She stared up into his face, not blinking as he stopped before her, "What do you need?"

He took a step closer, his expression intense, "You".

_**I know, there's no Amelia in this episode, I apologise if it was boring just rereading the show without her, but it was needed and I couldn't gloss over anything that was covered, it was too important to the plot. Anyway, I wonder what's happened to Amelia? I've had this planned out since season one and really, what else could I hve done? You'll find out in the next chapter what's happened to her. Also, good news, I already have the next chapter completely written and the very last one after that almost done, as well, so this story will hopefully be finished by the end of this month. Fingers crossed. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_

_**Guest reviews:**_

_**Guest (1): **__**I half wish you had sent me this review a few months back, but I'm afraid that I already had this plan completely set out almost right from the very start of the series. Hopefully, once you see just what will happen in the next chapter and I've been able to try and explain, you'll see how I really didn't have much a choice to do what I've written. I did love your idea, it would work as a brilliant AU to consider toying with, but I'm afraid that things have been set into motion that makes it impossible to change what I've already had planned. Thank you so much for the idea and review :)**_

_**Guest (2): **__**I have to admit, it's pretty hard for me to see Sherlock falling in love too, which is why it's taken so long for anything slightly romantic to start between Amelia and Sherlock. I needed to take a lot of character development for the two of them to even start getting closer, and even when things do start to happen in a romantic sense, it will be a long while before the word 'love' can be possibly said by either of them, if Sherlock ever manages to say it at all. You have to remember, Sherlock's not the only one who isn't comfortable with romance, Amelia has loved and lost, and it's taken her over two years to get over the death of her first husband. Plus, romance with someone you work so closely with? That's going to be a great concern for her to think about. Rest assured, nothing is going to be very rushed with these two, it's not like with my Doctor Who story when both the Doctor and the Hatter had already been in love with each other for centuries. Sherlock and Amelia aren't in love, they care for each other, more so then they both probably even realise yet, but it's going to take a lot longer for romantic love to ever develop. **_

_**I'm afraid I can't say too much, but I do have something planned in mind for the two of them at the end of season three, but Sherlock's shooting will bring a lot of things into light, let's just say that. Though, having said that, I am well known for changing my mind once I start writing, so you really can't take my word completely on that. Thank you for the review :)**_

_**Guest (3): **__**Well, I've actually saw it a little differently. Even in Sherlock's drug addled world that he made up, he still had a lot of people still doing the same things, even Molly was still working in the morgue and Mary was still a spy, so I can't imagine that it would be much different when it came to Amelia. I really don't want to give too much away, but I will say that Amelia's role in Victorian times will stay the same, but there will be big differences. Even the way that she meets Sherlock will be different, the way that she interacts with Lestrade and John will be different. Things for her will have been tough and she certainly will have a bit more of attitude at times with certain males, but Amelia will still be wealthy and just as fashion obsessed as she is in modern times. I've done my research and was delighted to discover that woman were actually allowed to have money and their own property by the time that the episode is set in, but if they married all of that would still go to their husband. **_

_**You have to remember, Sherlock admires Amelia, or as much as he can admire anyone. He feels a sense of kinship with her, even in his drug addled delusion of Victorian times, he's not going to just forget that and have her playing the role of a housewife or something like that. And, just like Victorian Sherlock said, he felt like he had been born in the wrong time, I rather saw his Victorian persona as having quite a modern mentality and more accepting towards more modern ideas then Victorian John or Lestrade were. But that's just me. Thanks for the review and suggestion :)**_


	15. Chapter 15 The Reichenbach Fall, Part 5

_**The Reichenbach Fall, Part 5**_

Sherlock was sitting on the floor of the same laboratory that he had spoken to Molly in, his back leaning up against one of the benches while he bounced a rubber ball off the floor and cupboard before him, easily it catching it before repeating the process all over again, deep in thought. The laboratory's door swung open and John strolled into the room.

"Got your message," he said to his flatmate, walking towards him.

Sherlock caught the ball as it bounced back up to him, holding it, "The computer code is key to this," he remarked, staring directly ahead of him, "If we find it, we can use it, beat Moriarty at his own game".

He frowned at him, "What d'you mean, 'use it?'" he asked.

"He used it to create the false identities, so we can use it to break into the records and destroy Richard and Rachel Brook".

"And bring back Moriarty and Amelia," John nodded, pointing at him as he smiled slightly at the idea of using Moriarty's own weapon against him. Poetic justice.

Sherlock stood, looking thoughtful, "Somewhere in 221B, somewhere, on the day of the verdict, he left it hidden," he turned and faced the bench that he had been leaning against, staring off into space as he tried to think, both hands resting flat against the surface of the bench.

"Uh-huh," John hummed, mirroring his stance. He looked off across the room, trying hard to think, before glancing back across to Sherlock, "What did he touch?"

"An apple," he replied, his expression intent, trying to figure it out, "Nothing else," he briefly drummed his fingers against the bench top.

"Did he write anything down?"

"No".

John nodded and released a loud sigh, drumming his fingers against the bench top, catching Sherlock's eye before he turned and began to walk back across the room. Sherlock hesitated slightly, a thought occurring to him as he glanced down at his right hand, tapping his fingers rhythmically, just as he recalled Moriarty doing after the verdict while he sat in the armchair across from him and Amelia at Baker Street. It wasn't hard to imagine each tap as a bit of binary code in his mind, all it took was that one small spark. He lifted his head, realisation crossing his face as he cast John's back a quick look, checking to make sure that he was busy as he turned his body away from him and pulled his phone from his pocket, typing out a quick text.

_Come and play.  
Bart's Hospital rooftop.  
SH._

He paused, adding:

_PS: Got something you might want back._

He sent the message and slipped the phone away back inside his blazer pocket, before turning back around to face the bench. This was it, no going back now.

….

Hours went by and before they knew it dawn was breaking outside, not that it had much effect, considering the lack of windows in the laboratory. Sherlock was still by the same bench, rolling the rubber bouncy ball from side to side beneath the palm of his hand, the only difference was that he had found a metal stool to sit on and now had his feet propped up on top of the bench. John was sitting on another stool a short distance away from him, his head rested on top of his folded arms as he tried desperately to get a bit of sleep, completely exhausted after all the running and adrenalin had worn off.

Sadly, it didn't seem to be his night and his phone began ringing loudly. Tiredly, he lifted his head, groaning slightly as he sat up straight, his back arching slightly after having spent so long bent over the table. He sniffed as he grabbed his phone from where he had it sitting on the table beside him, lifting it up to his ear, "Yeah, speaking," he answered it, listening for a moment, "Er, what?" he was suddenly wide awake, shock and worry crossing his face. He jumped onto his feet, "What happened? Is she okay?" he paused, listening intently for a moment, "Oh, my God!" he suddenly exclaimed, paling, "Right, yes, I'm coming".

Sherlock frowned very faintly, watching him as he clicked the phone off and lowered it from his ear, "What is it?" he questioned, his voice sounding unconcerned.

"Paramedics. Mrs Hudson, she's been shot".

"What? How?"

John tucked his phone back inside his trouser pocket and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, growing almost frantic, "Well, probably one of the killers you managed to attract…Jesus," he stopped and closed his eyes, looking almost sick, "_Jesus_. She's dying, Sherlock," he opened his eyes and looked back up to him, "Let's go," he headed for the door.

Sherlock didn't move a muscle, his expression completely blank of emotion, "You go," he told him, indifferent, "I'm busy".

John stopped and spun back around, looking shocked and appalled by his apparent apathy about a woman who could have easily have been mistake as an almost motherly figure for Sherlock, "Busy?" he repeated.

"Thinking," he said shortly, not even glancing at him, "I need to think".

"You need to…? Doesn't she mean _anything_ to you? You once half killed a man because he laid a finger on her".

He frowned, shrugging, "She's my landlady".

"She's _dying_!" he snapped, furious as he waved his hand around at Sherlock in disbelief, "You _machine_!" he stopped, shaking his head as he looked down, unable to bare even looking at him, he was so angry, "Sod this. Sod this," he turned and began heading for the door, "You stay here if you want, on your own".

"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me".

"No," John came to a stop by the doors, glaring back across the room to him, "Friends protect people," he pushed the door open and stormed out, the door slamming closed behind him.

Sherlock sighed heavily and finally lifted his head, casting the door a long look. His phone trilled, signalling a message, and he reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone, checking the message:

_I'm waiting...  
JM_

He read the message and let his legs fall back down onto the floor as he stood, slipping his phone away inside his pocket. He walked calmly across the room, buttoning his blazer as he went, grabbing his coat off the lab bench as he passed be it and headed out the door. He made his way up to the roof, managing to avoid anyone as he made his journey up to the door leading out onto the roof and pushed it open. It was almost blinding to be thrust so suddenly into the early morning sunshine, but he allowed himself to enjoy the sensation, after all, there were many different ways that this could turn out.

Moriarty was already there, sitting across from the doorway on the raised ledge of the roof. He was back to his usual Westwood suit and slicked back hair, nothing like his Richard Brook facade that he had presented the night before. He was holding his phone, playing 'Staying Alive' by 'the Bee Gees,' the music carrying across the roof top.

"Ah," he remarked as he continued to listen to the song, not even look up at the noise of the roof door closing behind Sherlock, "Here we are at last, you and me, Sherlock, and our problem, the final problem," he held the phone up higher as Sherlock approached him, "Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" he complained, making a face as he angrily clicked the phone and switched the music off, still not looking at Sherlock as he began to pace before him, "It's just…" he held his hand out and skimmed it through the air, glaring off into the distance, "…_staying_," he dropped his head and rubbed his face with his hand, "All my life I've been searching for distractions. You were the best distraction and now I don't even have _you_," he lifted his head, "Because I've _beaten _you," he looked across to Sherlock, who looked at him sharply, still pacing the roof. He looked away again, back out over the rest of the city, "And you know what? In the end it was easy," Sherlock came to a stop, bringing his hands together behind his back as he watched the other man carefully, "It was easy," he continued, his voice softer, disappointed, even, "Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people. And it turns our _you're_ ordinary, just like all of them," he pulled a face and lowered his head, covering his face briefly before glancing back up at Sherlock, "Ah well," he said in a sing-song voice, standing and walking closer to the other man, slowly circling him while Sherlock eyed him, "Did you almost start to wonder if I was real?" he smirked at him, "Did I nearly get ya?"

"Richard and Rachel Brook," Sherlock commented.

"Nobody seems to get the jokes, but you do".

"Of course," he agreed, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

"Attaboy".

"Rich Brook in German is Reichen Bach, the case that made Amelia and I famous, while Rachel was the name of Jennifer Wilson's daughter and part of the first case that Amelia and I ever worked on together".

"Wilson," Moriarty continued to circle him, musing the name in a mock thoughtful tone, "Funny how my dear little sister just _happened_ to meet you on the same case as another woman called 'Wilson,' don't you think?" he looked back to him, smirking.

Sherlock's mouth twitched very slightly, but he didn't look the slightest bit amused by the implication. He really ought to have guessed that Moriarty had had a hand in selecting the cab drivers victims, after all, it really had been far to coincidental that Amelia and Jennifer Wilson had shared the same last name, but at the time it hadn't even crossed his mind, nor did he suspect that it had even occurred to Amelia, "The Universe is rarely so lazy," he said lightly, not allowing himself to show how troubling it was. How many cases had Moriarty meddled in like that?

Moriarty's smile widened slightly, "Just tryin' to have some fun," he put on a fake American accent, still circling him like a shark, "Go on," he practically goaded, dropping the accent, "Ask what you _really _want to know".

He gritted his teeth, knowing what he was talking about and just what he was trying to do, "Where is Amelia?" he asked.

"Did you ever wonder what her role was in this game?" he said instead, ignoring his question. Sherlock tried hard not to look to curious, but he had to admit that he did want to know, though he had suspected, "She was _perfect_. I knew that if her pretty face didn't get your attention, her brain would, but Amy just couldn't play the game," he sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment, "So I had to bring someone else in, someone who was almost just as perfect and would do the job".

It wasn't hard for Sherlock to guess at just who he might be referring to, there was, after all, only one other woman that could possibly fit, "Irene Adler," he remarked, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Moriarty smirked at him, "Did you ever notice how similar they even look?" he said, and Sherlock refused to react, but of course he had noticed. It was rather hard not to, they even had the same build, only Amelia was taller. His smirk grew even wider, his eyes glittering, as if he could tell what he was thinking, "I must say, I didn't expect Amelia to be the one to bring her down," he commented.

"Let me guess, I was supposed to fall for Amelia," Sherlock said mockingly, rolling his eyes slightly, recalling how the mock Rachel Brook persona had been made out to seem like his so called 'love interest,' "But when that failed to happen, you brought Irene Adler into all of this".

He shrugged, making a slight face, "Every story needs a dash of love".

"Your plan failed, I didn't fall for Irene and Amelia and I can barely stand to be in the same room together without bickering".

Moriarty simply raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing look on his pale face, "Did it?" his eyes didn't leave Sherlock's, "_Really_?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed even more, clenching his fist at his side at the very clear implication of his words. He had to admit, he found Amelia to be far less annoying then he had once done, he would even go so far as to possibly admit that he admired her, but love? Most would say that he was incapable of the feeling, he tended to agree, "Where is she?" he asked again, his voice growing harder.

He shook his left sleeve back, glancing at his wristwatch, "In two minutes time, the car that she is in will go off a road and end up in a large lake," he informed him, letting his arm drop back to his side. Sherlock's body tensed, "Amy's always hated water," he continued, his voice light, acting as if he wasn't talking about his own twins death, "How fitting that she should drown".

He swallowed, hard, feeling burning cold rage bubbling up inside him. He knew very well how much Amelia hated large bodies of water; she had hated them ever since she had seen Carl Powers drown when she had been a child. If she was awake, she would be terrified, worse, completely hysterical knowing that she was going to die due to something she was already terrified of. He wanted to grab Moriarty by his throat and strangle him, to throw him off the roof right now, but that wasn't going to save Amelia and he needed to stay focus, so instead he would use that rage to bring Moriarty down.

Moriarty glanced at Sherlock's clasped hands behind his back, taking note of how his fingers were tapping rhythmically on the back of his hand, "Good," he said approvingly, "You got that too".

"Beats like digits," he remarked, recalling seeing Moriarty beating the same rhythm against his knee while they had sat in Baker Street's living room, "Every beat is a one, every rest is a zero. Binary code. That's why all those assassins tried to save my life. It was hidden on me, hidden inside my head, a few simple lines of computer code that can break into any system".

"I told all my clients: last one to Sherlock is a sissy," he informed him, sounding almost bored now.

Sherlock's eyes brightened, "Yes, but now that it's up here…" he pointed up to his temple as he spoke, "I can use it to alter the records. I can kill Rich and Rachel Brook, and bring back Jim Moriarty and Amelia Wilson".

Moriarty stared up at him for a moment, before turning away and closing his eyes, disappointment crossing his face again, "No, no, no, no, no, this is too easy," he buried his face in his hands as Sherlock frowned, confused, "This is too easy," he lowered his hands and turned back to him, "There _is_ no key, DOOFUS!" he suddenly shouted the last word, getting right into his face before backing away from him again. He held his arms out, "Those digits are meaningless. They're utterly meaningless," Sherlock's frown deepened, his confusion written all over his face, "You don't really think a couple of lines of computer code are gonna crash the world around our ears?" he shook his head at him, "I'm disappointed," he turned away from him and hunched his shoulders, making his voice sound moronic , "I'm disappointed in you_, ordinary _Sherlock".

Sherlock blinked back at him, confused as he tried to understand, "But the rhythm…"

He spun back around to face him, "'Partita number one,'" he held out his arms at his side, "Thank you, Johann Sebastian Bach".

"But then how did…"

"Then how did I break into the Bank?" he cut across him, "To the Tower, the Prison?" he spun around with his hands held out wide, "Daylight robbery. All it takes is some willing participants".

Of course, Sherlock could have kicked himself for not realising sooner. He had bribed them; he didn't need a computer code when he could just use his money to buy people to do his bidding.

"I knew you'd fall for it," Moriarty continued, pointing at Sherlock, "That's your weakness; you always want everything to be clever. Now, shall we finish the game?" he asked him, walking past him and over towards the edge of the roof, "One final act. Glad you chose a tall building, nice way to do it".

Sherlock frowned slightly, having been staring off into the distance, "Do it?" he said, sounding bewildered, "Do…do what?" he blinked and his expression cleared, realisation crossing his face as it occurred to him just what he was saying. He turned around to face him, "Yes, of course. My suicide".

"'Genius detective proved to be fraud and murderer'. I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales," Sherlock walked across to the edge of the roof, leaning out over the ledge and down below to the street. Moriarty glanced out over the edge, too, "And pretty Gimm ones too," he looked back to Sherlock.

Sherlock was ready to give up so easily and he turned back to face Moriarty, "I can still prove that you created these entirely false identities," he argued.

"Oh, just kill yourself," Moriarty told him warily, exasperated, "It's a lot less effort," he rolled his eyes as Sherlock turned away and began pacing, distracted, "Go on. For me," he put on a high pitched, half squeal as he said the next word, "Pleeeeeease?"

In a sudden movement, Sherlock had whirled back around and grabbed Moriarty by the front of his coat, spinning him around until his back was facing the ledge. He glared down at him, breathing heavily as he gave him a little shove closer towards the edge, but he didn't look the slightest bit afraid.

"You're insane," Sherlock hissed.

"You're just getting that now?" he blinked, surprised. Sherlock shoved him back even further, making him yelp and flail his hands around slightly, but he still didn't look afraid by the fact that only Sherlock was preventing him from falling off the edge of the roof, "Okay," he began calmly, meeting Sherlock's icy glare, "Let me give you a little extra incentive," Sherlock frowned as his voice took on an almost dangerous tone, "Your friends will _die_ if you don't".

He stared back at him, a hint of fear creeping into his face. He already knew that he couldn't be talking about Amelia, this was something else, "John," he said quietly.

"Not just John," he shook his head, whispering, "Everyone".

"Mrs Hudson".

A delighted smile appeared on his face, enjoying this, "_Everyone_".

"Lestrade".

"Three bullets, three gunmen, three victims. There's no stopping them now," Sherlock, furious, pulled him back up to safety, not letting go of the front of his coat. Moriarty looked up into his face, "Unless my people see you jump," he smirked triumphantly at him and shook himself free as Sherlock looked off into the distance, a look of horror crossing his face, "You can have me arrested," he continued, almost smug, "You can torture me, you can do anything you like with me, but nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. You only four friends in the world will die…unless…" he trailed off.

"…unless I kill myself," Sherlock finished, his voice soft, "Complete your story".

Moriarty smiled, properly this time, and nodded, "You've gotta admit, that's sexier".

"And I die in disgrace," he murmured, feeling ill again at the thought of being blamed for Amelia's death, as being branded as the man who killed her. It didn't so much matter that he would be called a fraud, the people who mattered would know the truth, but it was the fact that people would think that he had killed Amelia that truly got to him. She was a friend, someone he worked with closely, he would never lay a finger on her, regardless of how infuriating she could be at times.

Moriarty gave him a look, "Of course," he said in a matter-fact tone, "That's the_ point_ of this," he glanced back over the ledge to see a bus had pulled up by a bench below them, several people walking along the footpath, "Oh, you've got an audience now," he commented, his voice light, cheerful even as he looked back to Sherlock, "Off you pop," he rolled his neck side to side, his tone growing slightly firmer, "Go on," Sherlock stepped up onto the ledge, his toes hanging over the edge, "I _told_ you how this ends," he didn't even look at him as he spoke, Sherlock's breathing growing shakier as he looked down at the very hard ground below, "Your death is the only thing that's gonna call off the killers. _I'm _certainly not gonna do it".

Sherlock blinked rapidly, anxious, "Would you give me…one moment, please, one moment of privacy?" he asked, glancing back down to the other man, "Please?"

He looked back up to him, disappointment crossing his face as he sighed, "Of course," he said flatly, clearly feeling that Sherlock really wasn't living up to his standards as he began to walk away, back across the roof.

Sherlock looked back out across the city, feeling the wind on his face and tousling his hair. He took a couple of deep breaths, willing his anxiety to fade so that he could_ think_. It was already very clear that there was nothing that he could do now to save Amelia, she would have well and truly have ended up in the water by now, and Moriarty needed her to die to make it look as if he had murdered her out of sheer desperation to try and keep his so called 'lie' going. He wouldn't call her death off for _anything_; she was already too far gone for that. But John and all the others still had a chance, he just needed to think…and then it came to him, lightening fast. He couldn't help it, his mouth began to open into a wide smile and he started laughing, because he now saw the one thing left that he could use to save them. Amelia might be lost, but he could still save the rest of their friends and he knew that would be what she would want him to do.

Moriarty was still walking across the roof when the sound of Sherlock's laughter reached him. He spun back around, furious, "What?" he demanded, glaring at Sherlock's back as the other man continued to shake from delighted laughter, "What is it?" he frowned angrily, sounding almost like a frustrated child. Sherlock, still chuckling and grinning, turned back around on the ledge to face him, feeling greatly satisfied to see his enemy's confusion, "What did I miss?"

He hopped down off the ledge, walking towards him, "'You're not going to do it,'" he quoted, looking thoughtful, "So the killers _can_ be called off, then, there's a recall code or a word or a number," he smirked, starting to circle him, "_I_ don't have to die…" he put on a sing-song voice, mocking him, "If I've got _you_".

He blinked, his confusion clearing, "Oh!" he laughed, sounding relieved, delighted even, "You think you can_ make_ me stop the order?" he gestured towards Sherlock, "You think_ you_ can make me do that?"

"Yes. So do you".

"Sherlock, your big brother and all the King's horses couldn't make me do a thing I didn't want to do".

Sherlock stopped circling him, coming a stop right before him, his face inches from his. Being this close to Moriarty, it made it harder not to notice the similarities between him and Amelia. They both had the same dark brown, almond shaped eyes, but where Moriarty's were cold, Amelia's carried a warmth and lightness to them, "Yes, but I'm _not _my brother, remember?" he reminded him, his voice barely above a whisper, "I am you, prepared to do anything, prepared to burn, prepared to do what ordinary people won't do. You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you".

Moriarty eyed him closely and slowly shook his head, "Nah," he said after a moment, "You talk big. Nah. You're ordinary. You're ordinary; you're on the side of the angels, just like Amy was".

"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels," he agreed, his voice growing darker, "But don't think for one _second_ that I am one of them".

He stared back up into his eyes for a long moment, trying to detect a single hint of a lie, "No," he finally murmured, his Irish accent growing stronger, "You're not," he blinked, closing his eyes briefly as Sherlock lifted his chin slightly higher. He opened his eyes and looked back to him, a smile crossing his face as he nodded slightly, "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me," he laughed delightedly, the sound slightly manic, "You're me!" his voice grew higher, "_Thank you_!" he lifted his right hand towards Sherlock's shoulder, almost as if he was about to embrace him, when he lowered it and offered it to him to shake, instead, "Sherlock Holmes," he smiled as Sherlock looked down at his hand and slowly, cautiously, raised his hand out to take it, "Thank you," he told him, nodding again, almost frantically, "_Bless_ you," he said in a whisper, blinking back tears as he lowered his gaze. He swallowed, hard, still not looking at him, "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends, you've got a way out. Well, good luck with that," his head snapped back up to look at Sherlock and he grinned madly, opening his mouth wide, not letting go of Sherlock's hand as he reached behind his back and pulled a pistol from out of the waistband of his trousers, raising it up to his mouth.

Sherlock's eyes widened, "No!" he cried, alarmed as he leaped back from him, but there was nothing he could do as Moriarty fired the gun straight into his mouth, his body collapsing backwards onto the roof top instantly, the noise still ringing loudly around him as a pool of blood began to seep out across the ground around Moriarty's still grinning face. He stared back down at his body, shocked and horrified, breathing erratically as he spun away from the scene, reaching up with his hands to grab at his hair. There it was, his last chance to save his friends, and Moriarty had completely destroyed it with one bullet. There nothing left for him to do now but to go through with Moriarty's one final twisted act in his game. To save his friends.

He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, his mind working franticly as he looked back across to Moriarty's body, his eyes still wide open and lifeless . He turned back to the ledge, his breathing slowing as he walked back across to edge and stepped back up onto the ledge, resigned to do the only thing that he could do now. He looked down at the street and saw a cab pulling up. It wasn't hard to deduce that it had to be John, returning back to the hospital after no doubt finding Mrs Hudson to be perfectly fine. He reached inside his coat pocket and withdrew his phone, dialling John's number.

Below him, the cab's back door opened and John climbed out, lifting his ringing phone up to his ear as the cab began driving off, "Hello?" he said over the phone, starting to jog over to the hospital's entrance. He hadn't seen him standing on the roof yet.

"John," Sherlock said calmly over his end.

"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" John asked quickly, concerned.

"Turn around and walk back the way you came".

"No, I'm coming in," he told him, sounding as if he was frowning as he continued to head towards the hospital.

"Just do as I ask," Sherlock ordered frantically, a hint of pleading in his tone, "_Please_".

John stopped and spun back around, walking back the way he had come, "Where?" he questioned, sounding very confused and bewildered.

He watched from above, waiting for him to reach the spot, "Stop there," he said urgently.

He came to a stop in the middle of the empty road, looking around, "Sherlock?"

"Okay, look up. I'm on the roof top".

John turned and looked up at the roof, "Oh God," he breathed, finally catching sight of his flatmate standing on the edge of the roof.

"I…I…I can't come down," Sherlock said, struggling to get the words out, staring down at John, only just managing to make out the horrified expression on his face, "So we'll…we'll just have to do it like this".

"What's going on?"

"An apology. It's all true".

"Wh…what?"

"Everything they said about me," Sherlock said, swallowing, "I invented Moriarty and Amelia," he paused, glancing back over his shoulder to Moriarty's body. He grimaced, closing his eyes briefly as he turned back to look down at John, "And I…I killed Amelia. She's dead and_ I_ did it…" he broke off, ducking his head.

John's inhaled sharply on the other end of the phone, "Why are you saying this?" he demanded.

"I'm a fake," he insisted, "And a murderer," his voice broke.

"Sherlock…"

"There newspapers were right all along," he continued, his voice tearful as he blinked back tears, "I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly…in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty and Amelia for my own purposes".

"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up," John told him angrily, refusing to believe what he was hearing, "The first time we met…the _first_ time _we_ met, you knew all about my sister, right?"

Sherlock smiled bitterly, "No one could be that cleaver".

"_You _could. Both you and Amelia".

He laughed, tears dripping down his cheeks, "I researched you," he paused, trying to swallow the emotions he was feeling, "Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you," he sniffed, "Amelia…Rachel was just playing her role, just acting. It's a trick," he shrugged his shoulders slightly, "Just a magic trick".

"No," John snapped, and even from the roof Sherlock could see him shaking his head, "All right, stop it now," he began to head back over towards the hospital entrance.

"No, stay exactly where you are," Sherlock called urgently, holding out a hand towards him, "Don't move".

He stopped and backed back, holding his own arm up towards his flatmate in surrender, "All right".

Breathing hard, Sherlock didn't lower his hand, "Keep your eyes fixed on me," he said sternly, his growing frantic again, "Please, will you do this for me?"

"Do what?"

"This phone call…it's, er…it's my note," he paused, swallowing, "It's what people do, don't they, leave a note?"

John didn't answer at first, lowering the phone from his ear as he stared up at Sherlock, before lifting the phone back up to his ear, "Leave a note when…?" he purposely trailed off, his voice shaking as it broke.

"Goodbye, John".

"No," he shook his head urgently, his breathing growing panicked, "Don't".

Sherlock gazed down at him for a long moment before he lowered his arm and tossed the phone back onto the ground of the roof behind him. He dragged his eyes off John and looked back out across the city.

"No…" John gasped, his eyes widening fearfully, realising what he was about to do, "SHERLOCK!" he screamed, his entire focus up on his best friend.

Sherlock spread his arms out beside him and allowed himself to fall forwards, plummeting straight over the ledge and towards the ground.

John stared in horror, dropping the phone, "Sher…"

A sickening crack sounded as Sherlock disappeared from sight behind a smaller, one-story building between John and the hospital. The entire world just seem to fade all around John as he stood there, his eyes wide with horror, all the noise becoming muted by the one thought in his mind: Sherlock.

He took off running, desperate to get to his friend, to see for himself, nothing else mattered in that very moment. He slowed to a walk as he neared the corner of the smaller building, before stopping completely in the middle of the road, still shocked by what had just happened as he looked across the road to see a body lying crumpled like a broken doll lying on the pavement outside the hospital, half hidden by lorry parked by the side of the road. He began to take a step towards the body, when a young man riding a bicycle slammed into his side, sending him crashing onto the ground.

John groaned and winced, his head feeling like it had been smashed into a brick wall and there was a funny, high pitched buzzing noise in his ears. He rolled back onto his side and opened his eyes, trying to hold onto consciousness as he looked back across the road to see that a group of people had started to gather around the body, a few wearing blue hospital scrubs and seeming to be trying to hold the onlookers back, the lorry gone. He struggled back onto his feet and started stumbling over to the scene, ignoring the pain in his head and the slightly muffled ringing still going on in his ears, forcing his way through the crowd of people.

"Sherlock…" he gasped out, trying to get closer, trying to see for himself, "Sherlock…" he tried pushing people out of the way, "I'm a doctor, let me come through. Let me come through, please," he clumsily struggled to get people to move, but a few of them tried holding him back as he fought against them, not hearing their attempts to sooth and calm him, "No, he's my friend. He's my friend. Please…"

There was blood all over the wet pavement and around Sherlock's head, his pale blue lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead of him as a young doctor was kneeling beside his crumpled body, trying to find a pulse in his neck, one that he clearly wouldn't find.

John managed to break free of the people trying to hold him back, grabbing at one of Sherlock's wrists and desperately checking his pulse, but a woman firmly peeled his fingers away while another woman gently pulled him back. He tried reaching out for Sherlock again, just as two medics arrived with a wheeled stretcher.

"Please, let me just…" he begged frantically, when his legs gave way beneath him, the shock and the knock to his head simply too much for his body to take as he collapsed onto the pavement, half supported by two of the onlookers. He looked back across to Sherlock's body, watching as two people gently rolled his body onto his back to reveal his blood stained face, his hair drenched in his own blood. John let out a groan of despair, feeling like he was about to be sick, "No, Jesus, no," he slurred, trying to stand, but his legs just wouldn't hold his weight, "God, no".

It took four men to lift Sherlock's body up onto the stretcher, Sherlock's arm dangling limply off the edge of the bed as they hurriedly wheeled it away and inside the hospital. John managed to climb back onto his feet, shaking off the people who had been trying to support him as he stared after the stretcher. His two best friends, Amelia Wilson and Sherlock Holmes, were dead.

_**And we've finally reached the Fall, but there's still one more chapter to go and yes, Amelia is in it. I would have finished the story off in this chapter, but with how the next one starts and ends, it just seemed like it would fit better to have it as its own chapter. Also, who else has been watching the latest season of Sherlock? I just finished the final and loved it, I loved how creepy and twisted the whole episode was, and I've also very much enjoyed seeing how much Sherlock's character has changed and developed since the very first episode. Fingers crossed that there's another season. Tell me what you thought, please review :)**_


	16. Chapter 16 Goodbyes

_**Goodbyes**_

The rain was pouring outside, streaking the windows of the small house. A young woman was sitting on an ordinary two sitter cream coloured sofa, her jean clad legs curled up beneath her as she looked across the wooden coffee table. The table top was covered with newspapers; each one featuring the same headline with only minor differences in wording. It made her ill to see them, knowing how wrong they were, how they had all fallen completely under James Moriarty's spell.

Sherlock Holmes, the famous sleuth, was dead, committing suicide after it became clear that the entire world was about to find out that he was a fraud, but not only was that his only crime, he had also murdered Rachel Brook, an actress that Holmes had hired to make his story even more elaborate. Rachel had been made out to be another detective, just like Holmes, and the two had worked together for over eighteen months with many speculating there was more than just friendship between them. Holmes had apparently killed her when she had tried to make a run for it, cutting the breaks on her car and causing her to crash into a lake, drowning to death. No body had been recovered.

The woman scoffed bitterly as she ran her eyes over the newspapers, going so far as to grab one of them that had the headline, 'Homicidal Detective Proved to Be Fraud,' and angrily pulling the front page off, violently tearing the paper into shreds. She didn't feel much better after doing it, actually she felt slightly childish, but she just couldn't stand looking at it any longer. She sighed heavily and began collecting up all the papers, including the strips of paper, and carrying them all through the archway that lead into the small kitchen, tossing it all onto the kitchen's white laminate bench top to be dealt with later.

A loud knock sounded from the front door, and she paused to cast the microwaves clock a quick look. Right on time, not that she expected anything less. She made her way back through the livening room and over to the door that led out into the small entrance, which consistent of a wooden staircase with a red carpet runner and a large canvas print that hung on the white wall by the door of a large flower. It wasn't her taste, but it was only temporary. She crossed to the door and pulled it open to find a tall, very wet man standing on the doorstep, his head covered by a black hoddie. She broke into a smile and opened the door wider, "Hello, Sherlock".

Sherlock stepped into the tiny space, closing the door behind him before shaking back the hoddie, his wet curls plastid to his face as he returned her smile, "Amelia".

"Pleasant day for it," she remarked sarcastically, running her eyes over his wet form.

He glanced down at himself, "I don't suppose you have a towel?"

She smiled broadly, "Of course. Come on," she edged past him, careful to try not to get wet by brushing against him in the small space, but it was tricky. The entrance really wasn't built for two, let alone two people both above average height of 5'8 and Sherlock's 6'3 build. She led him back into the living room and walked across to where she had set up a small clothes drying rack in front of the heater, grabbing a couple of white towels that she already had hanging on it, "Take your hoddie off so it can dry," she told him, turning around to pass him the towels.

He didn't say a word as he pulled the hoddie off, revealing the dark blue shirt beneath and handed the jacket to Amelia to drape over the drying rack while he used the towel to dry his hair, causing it to stick up all over the place.

Amelia laughed, catching sight of him as she turned back to face, "Here, let me," she stepped closer to him and reached up to try and help tame his hair as he ducked his head slightly to help her reach better, since she wasn't wearing any shoes. She was slightly surprised that he was actually being compliant; he seemed a little out of character for him to even allow someone to touch him like this, "There," she said after a moment, once his hair resembled his usual look, "All done".

Sherlock straightened himself back up to his proper height, his eyes searching her face for a moment, "You look tired," he commented.

"If that's your way of thanking me, then no problem," she said lightly, really not expecting anything of the sort as she moved around him and weaved past the coffee table to take a seat back on the sofa. She tucked her legs back beneath her, trying hard not to think too deeply about how soft his hair was, even when soaking wet.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching her, "You're avoiding the subject," he noted, and she sighed very slightly, "It's not the first time you've had issues sleeping, though you're usually more candid about talking about it, which means…"

"That perhaps I don't wish to dwell on it," Amelia cut in, her voice still light, but there was a slight edge of warning in her face. She sighed, running a hand through her loose, wavy hair, "James abducted me and held me hostage for twelve hours," she reminded him, her voice growing harder, "Then, he had me drugged and put into a car that had the breaks cut, had a hacker get into the car's computer, and then had it drive off into a lake for me to drown to death just so that you could be blamed for my murder and tying up me as a loose end," she raised her eyebrows at him, "Why wouldn't I have trouble sleeping after_ that_, Holmes?"

"I'm sorry".

She blinked, not expecting to hear that, not at all. She stared back at him and was almost just as shocked to see that he was being completely serious. There wasn't any trace of lie in his face or body language, and even though he was probably one of the best liars she had come across throughout her entire career, she had known him long enough by now to tell, "Why are you apologising?" she asked once the shock had passed, confused.

Sherlock wrapped the towel around his shoulders, while draping the second over the seat of the sofa beside Amelia before he sat down, yet another act that surprised her. He was acting very strange, out of character, even, "Mycroft assured me that the extraction plan would be initiated _before_ you went into the water," he told her, a touch of anger in his expression.

"I know. I was there when we came up with the plan".

That had been one of her brother's biggest mistakes, assuming that she would stay silent, just like she always had, but she hadn't, not this time. On the very day that she had met James in the café and he had threatened to kill the people she cared about unless she kept silent and agreed to follow the text that would lead her to being abducted in the first place, she had very carefully told Sherlock about what had happened. She had made a promise to herself not to keep anymore secrets from Sherlock or John, sadly; in this case, she had been forced to leave John out of it, but at least she had had Sherlock on her side.

Together, with Mycroft, they had carefully began to put a plan into place. It had complicated matters that they hadn't known what James's end game would be, so they had been forced to put a very discreet surveillance team on her for the past several months to insure that they would know the moment anything did happen. She had always suspected that James would kill her by water in some way; a bullet was too easy and didn't have enough flare to it. A knife, again, to common. But water had always been a presser point for her ever since she had been ten, James would have found it amusing that she would die by it. She knew her brother, perhaps, not in many of the ways that had mattered throughout this entire game, but she did know how he thought when it came to her. she had been his very first distraction as children before he had grown bored and moved on to other things, she knew very well that he would want to use her death in some way to bring down Sherlock and as a way to tie up loose ends.

"It hardly matters now," Amelia went on, sighing again, "I knew the risks, I'm just grateful to still be alive at this point, and that everything went smoothly…" she trailed off, her eyes growing distant as something occurred to her, "Almost smoothly," she murmured.

It wasn't hard to deduce just what she was thinking of, "Your brother," he nodded, watching her reaction closely. She closed her eyes briefly, and for one worrisome moment Sherlock feared he might actually have to try and comfort her without John being there to tell him to pat her back while he made all the right shushing noises that crying people seemed to like. How was he supposed to handle a crying woman? Let alone Amelia? Thankfully, when she opened her eyes again they were dry and she didn't seem close to tears, just sad.

"He wasn't always horrible," she said softly, the corner of her mouth twitching, "There were times when I got to feel what it might be like to actually have a brother, even if those moments were very rare and never lasted more than a day," she looked up into his face, a proper smile crossing her face now, but even still it was twinged with sadness, "I'll never be able to forgive his memory for what he's done, but he was still my brother and I did love him. I don't suppose you could understand that?"

"No," he admitted, not about to pretend as if he could, even if he believed himself capable of feeling such a thing as 'love' for anything, "But…" he hesitated slightly, sensing that Amelia was seeking some sort of reassurance from him, and he supposed that it wouldn't cause any harm to try and indulge her for the moment. Hopefully, it wouldn't end up causing her to break down into tears, "We all have difficult siblings and we can't choose our family".

Much to his horror, her eyes filled with tears and she grabbed his hand so suddenly that he couldn't even try to move his hand if he had wanted to. She gripped it tightly, her slim fingers feeling cold against his skin as she wove them between his larger ones, "Thank you," she breathed, blinking back the tears as she smiled a watery smile at him, "I know you're not very comfortable with this sort of thing and I'm sorry, I feel like I'm forcing this entire emotional mess that I'm currently in onto you right now, but I am truly grateful for your attempts to help".

He shifted slightly in his seat, feeling very unsure of just what to do. It wasn't often that Amelia had ever cried in front of him before, he was used to seeing her annoyed or angry at him, not this tearful, emotional version of her that seemed to feel the need to touch him. It was very odd and he was completely lost without John there to diffuse Amelia's attention from him. He cleared his throat, trying to make his face into something less panicked then he imagined he probably looked, "Yes, well…" he began, trailing off, not knowing what to say.

Amelia tightened her grip on his hand, the tears fading, "You know, you don't fool me, Sherlock," she told him, and some of her usual twinkle appeared in her eyes that were only a little red rimmed now. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, curious, "You claim to be a sociopath, but you're not".

"Aren't I?" he asked, sounding amused now. He didn't even mind that she was still holding his hand; it just faded to the background as he listened to her.

"A true sociopath is incapable of forming emotional attachments, you, however, _do _have people that you have literally proven that you would _die_ for if it meant that they lived. There's a difference between suppressing your emotions and not feeling any, Holmes, and you certainly do have feelings," her smile turned into a grin and she leaned closer to him, "I've seen them".

"That psychology degree has been wasted on all these years of detective work, Amelia".

She laughed and she was faintly surprised when he joined in, "Admit it, Holmes," she grinned at him, lightly hitting his arm with her free hand, her eyes twinkling, "You have feelings, you _care_, you've just spent your life trying so damn hard not to that I think you've forgotten how to".

"Feelings and emotions get in the way," Sherlock replied, shrugging his shoulders lightly, "They get in the way of my work, cloud my logical reasoning and effect my ultimate ability to solve a case".

"Emotions aren't evil," Amelia argued, before pausing, her mouth twitching, "Well, sometimes they are, but they can also be helpful. Personally, I think I'm a better detective because I allow myself to feel, just imagine how amazing _you_ could be if you let a few pesky emotions pop up every now and then".

"That's your place," he said, actually making it sound like a compliment, "You do the emotional deductions, I do the logical, and John picks up the pieces".

She smiled softly, "You make us sound like a very complimentary mix".

"Of course. How else would we have managed to get this far without picking up on each other's shortcomings?"

"You know, Sherlock, you really should show this side of you more often, I rather like it".

"I could say the same about you," Sherlock remarked, casting his eyes over her dark blue jeans, black socks, and pale blue jumper. She wasn't even wearing any makeup and her hair looked as if she had only brushed it and allowed it to dry naturally into waves. There wasn't a single designer label in sight; in fact she looked like a completely ordinary woman, though she was still wearing contact lenses. Personally, he thought that this simple look suited her better, she didn't need the designer clothing or jewellery to be impressive, she already was just simply due to who she was.

She shrugged slightly, giving him a pointed look, "We all wear our masks," she said quietly. She glanced down at the watch on his wrist and sighed heavily, "You have to leave, don't you?"

"Yes," he confirmed, not even glancing at his watch, not needing to.

She nodded and smiled sadly, looking back up to his face. She hesitated slightly, as if she was thinking very hard and fast about something, before she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. He had seen it coming, had felt her heart rate begin to rise, but he hadn't made the slightest move to try and stop her and, instead, he found his eyes slipping shut as he felt her lips lightly pressing against his in a rather chaste kiss.

She was rather surprised to find that it was him who deepened the kiss as he brought his right hand up to rest on her waist and, feeling slightly braver by the gesture, she let go of his hand to bring her right hand up to tangle in his hair at the base of his neck. The kiss lasted only for a minute, but it still left them both rather breathless as Amelia was the one to pull away first, their faces still inches apart. She felt rather pleased with herself to see that she had managed to have an effect on Sherlock, his pupils were dilated and she could feel his pulse racing in his neck and there was a pinkish hue high in his pale cheeks.

"I couldn't let you go before doing that," she murmured, a smirk playing on her tingling lips, "That has been coming since Baskerville".

"You were the one who pulled away the first time," Sherlock reminded her, speaking just as softly, his hand still resting on her waist.

"We work together," she shrugged, "Romance and work relations never end well, and the past eighteen months of working with you has been the best of my life. I didn't want to ruin it," her smirk widened, "But, technically, we're no longer colleagues, it seemed a shame to let such a chance slip away. Think of it as my going away present".

"And you call _me_ arrogant".

"Oh, Holmes, we're both terribly arrogant and at times even a little narcissistic. That's a part of our charm".

Sherlock's mouth twitched in amusement, "You are aware that this safe house has several cameras scattered throughout it," he pointed out, still having made no move to let go of her, "Mycroft will undoubtedly know of this".

"I know," Amelia grinned, not in the slightest bit concerned. She was well aware, in fact the only room in the entire house that didn't have a camera was the bathroom, "And I frankly don't care what your big brother has to say about it. A kiss between two consenting, none-attached adults is perfectly acceptable, and I doubt Mycroft will be very surprised, do you?"

"I don't think Mycroft is surprised by very much," he remarked, letting go of her waist.

She let her hand fall from his neck and shifted back slightly as she watched him stand, stepping back over to where his hoddie was still hanging over the drying rack. It was still damp, but he pulled it on anyway and, with a small sigh, Amelia also rose to her feet and began to walk him back to the front door. They paused as they reached it, looking at each other.

"I'm going to miss you, Holmes," she told him, suddenly feeling the urge to cry.

"I know".

She laughed, rolling her eyes fondly, "You could at least pretend to miss me, too".

He gave her a slightly annoyed look, "Must I really say it?"

"No," she shook her head, smiling softly, "Some things don't need to be said, this is one of them," she stood on tip-toe and reached up, pulling his hood back over his head before dropping her hands back to her side and letting herself stand normally again, "I don't suppose you can tell me where you're going?"

"No. It's better the less people who know".

Amelia nodded, not the slightest bit surprised by his response. She knew that it wasn't anything personal, it was just a part of security, just as she wouldn't be learning where she would be sent into hiding until the morning that she would be moved, "Well, where ever that might be," she began, feeling her eyes starting to water again, much to her embarrassment, "Just remember that you have friends who miss you and are thinking about you, and who very dearly can't wait to see you again".

Sherlock sighed and looked away from her, "Amelia…" he said in a slightly wary tone, clearly not feeling overly comfortable with how emotional she was getting.

"I know, I know, emotions aren't your area, but I can't help it. Just come back safely, okay?"

"Safe is boring".

"So is death," she retorted straight away, her eyes fixed on him, a very serious expression on her face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, finally looking back to her, "I'll do my best," he said dryly, only humouring her, "But this isn't goodbye," he continued, growing serious as he grabbed the doorhandle, pushing it open onto the still raining street. She gave him a puzzled look as he paused in the doorway to look back at her from beneath his hood, "We still have one last person to see".

And before she could even open her mouth, he had already spun back around and stepped out into the rain, shutting the door behind him.

…

It had taken weeks for John to even consider making the trip to the cemetery that Sherlock had been buried in. Amelia…or as the rest of the world was now calling her, Rachel Brook had had a small memorial service shortly after Sherlock's small funeral had been held. John hadn't been able to bring himself to go to it, knowing in his heart that it wasn't her, that it was a lie, that Amelia Wilson was real and that Moriarty had killed her. Still, no body had been found in the car that she had supposedly been in, so he still kept hope that she had managed to survive, somehow, that they _both _had somehow done the impossible and survived.

He watched as the city passed by the windows of the cab that he and Mrs Hudson were sitting in as they drove to the cemetery for the first time since Sherlock's burial, a bunch of flowers resting in Mrs Hudson's lap with a separate, single red rose amongst the lilies. Roses had been Amelia's favourite flower and red her favourite colour. It had been his idea to leave one at Sherlock's grave as their own little memorial to the woman that they had known, not the façade of Rachel Brook that the world now believed in.

The trip seemed to take no time at all, most of it spent in sober silence, and before long the cab was pulling up outside the front doors of a small stone church. They climbed out and began to make their way through the large graveyard that surrounded the church until they reached a black marble headstone that was sitting beneath the canopy of a large tree. There was no date of birth or death, no little picture or line from a poem, just simply his name: Sherlock Holmes. John couldn't help but think that it was exactly the type of thing that Sherlock would have wanted, something straight forward and to the point, with very little information about the man the stone belonged to.

Mrs Hudson stepped forward and placed the bunch of lilies in front of the stone, while she carefully placed the rose on top of the smooth surface of the headstone. She moved back to stand beside John, clasping her hands together as she looked back at the stone, "There's all the_ stuff_, all the science equipment," she sighed sadly, "I left it all in boxes. I don't know what needs doing. I thought I'd take it to a school," she looked across to John, who was still staring back at the headstone. She hesitated slightly, "Would you…?" she asked, trailing off.

John shook his head, his eyes still glued to the stone, "I can't go back to the flat again, not at the moment," he told her. She nodded sympathetically and took his arm, seeing how hard he was trying to keep his composer, "I'm angry," he admitted, taking a deep breath through his nose, looking down.

She pattered his arm comfortingly, "It's okay, John," she tried to console him, "There's nothing unusual in that. That's the way he made _everyone_ feel," she looked back across the headstone, "All the marks on my table, and the noise," she shook her head, "Firing guns at half past one in the morning!"

"Yeah," he nodded, lowering his head again, releasing another heavy breath.

"Bloody specimens in my fridge. Imagine, keeping bodies where there's food!"

"Yes," he muttered, closing his mouth tightly.

"And the fighting!" she continued, her voice breaking slightly as she began to get more and more worked up, "Drove me up the wall with all of their carrying-on!" she sniffed.

"Yeah, listen," John cut in, turning to her, "I'm…I'm not actually _that_ angry, okay?"

"Sorry," she nodded, her voice soft, "Okay," she began to turn away, letting go of his arm, "I'll leave you alone to, erm…" her voice broke again and she briefly pressed her finger against her lips, "…you know," she sniffed tearfully and began walking back through the graveyard to where they had left the cab waiting for them in front of the church, crying quietly as she reached into her handbag for a tissue.

John looked back to the grave and took a deep breath, before glancing back behind him to Mrs Hudson's retreating figure, checking to make sure she was out of earshot. Once he was sure, he turned back to the grave, "Um…hmm," he hummed thoughtfully, trying to gather his thoughts to say what he needed to say, "You…you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm…there were times when I didn't even think you were _human_, but let me tell you…_both_ of you this…" he shifted slightly, clearing his throat, "You were the best man and, er…woman, and the most human…human beings that I've ever known and no-one will ever convince me that you told me a lie, and so…there," he released a shuddering breath and walked over to the headstone, resting his hand on top of it and the rose, "I was so alone, and I owe you both _so_ much. Okay," he took a tearful breath, swallowing hard as he tried hard not to just completely break down. He turned and started to walk away, when he stopped and spun back around, "No, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing…one more miracle, Sherlock, Amelia, for me. Don't…be…" his voice broke, tears filling his eyes, "…dead. Would you do…" he gasped for breath, his voice tearful as he struggled to get the words out, "…Just for me, just stop it," he gestured to the grave and shook his head, "Stop_ this_".

He sighed heavily and lowered his head, covering his eyes as he broke down, crying quietly to himself before he forced himself to wipe his tears away and straightened. He stared back down at the grave and gave it one final nod, before turning on his heel and walking away.

However, standing only a short distance away beneath a tree, half obscured from view by a large headstone, stood a curly dark haired man in a large coat while a slightly shorter woman with a pair of glasses on stood beside him, the pair watching as John walked back up through the graveyard. Sherlock and Amelia watched sadly as their friend tried so hard to stay strong, to keep his head held high and his tears from slipping down his face as he made his way back up to join Mrs Hudson.

"Until we meet again," Amelia murmured, watching him go.

_**And just as Amelia said, the next story will be called, 'Until We Meet Again,' so keep an eye out for that to be posted in the next few hours. So we've finally got a kiss! I said there would be one before the end of this story, but this doesn't mean that their together. It's going to be just a little bit longer before that happens, I'm afraid. I know that Sherlock was a bit out of character throughout this chapter, but that's how I intended it to be.**_

_**I would like to say a massive thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourite, and alerted this story and stuck with it throughout my usual long absence of updating it. The next story will be up soon, so stay tuned and thank you all again :)**_


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